


A Second Chance

by AZ_Valentine



Category: Crash Bandicoot (Video Games)
Genre: Angels, Angst, Confusion, Demons, Developing Relationship, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Magic and Science, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Other, Prophecy, Redemption, Repentance, Slow Romance, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 65,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZ_Valentine/pseuds/AZ_Valentine
Summary: Dr. Nefarious Tropy is saved from the brink of death by a mysterious Angel, and is offered another chance at life. However, the stakes are raised when he learns of the condition of his Immortal Soul - at this rate, condemned to Hell, or forced servitude to its Masters. The Angel ventures to help him find Redemption. This work contains graphic depictions of violence, death, and strong language.
Relationships: Nefarious Tropy/Azraphael
Kudos: 4





	1. Out of Time

"This is all _your_ fault!!" Lady N. Tropy whirled around, jabbing a finger into her male counterpart's chest. Her lips were set in a snarl, baring her teeth. Her glare went from vicious to downright hateful as the two locked eyes. The Doctors stared one another down for a few moments of deadly silence. The usually quick-witted man was briefly rendered silent. He looked his counterpart up and down, utterly confused by her sudden, drastic change in demeanor towards him. She'd been nothing but kind to him - and _only_ him - since they met. Now, no traces of softness remained.

_'Doesn't she care about me...?'_ He thought, a foreign pain suddenly clutching at his heart. It knotted up inside his chest, leaving him feeling heavier - this only served to anger him. "My fault?!" He snapped back at her, swatting her hand away. She growled, clenching her fists. They each took a step back, beginning to pace in opposite directions. "How is it _my_ fault when _you've already succeeded_ in killing those foul orange rodents in your own universe?!" His voice was rising in volume and tempo. The heartache was gone now, replaced by outrage, and an urge to fight.

" _You held me back!!_ " Lady N. Tropy nearly screamed. Her light blue face began to flush in rage, turning her cheeks a dark, bruised purple. Two veins stood out on her neck and forehead. "You couldn't handle it yourself, so you had to drag _me_ into _your_ legacy of failure!!" Her counterpart was visibly stunned by this immense blow to his pride. She sneered, sensing his distress. "You've grown soft, Doctor. I think it's high time you hung up your helmet, and left evildoing to the _real_ professionals." She turned away from him, then, missing the tiny moment of despair that flashed across his features. He watched intently as she began to saunter away from him, moving aimlessly across their lonely prison.

Lady N. Tropy stared out at the vastness of space, hands on her hips, taking in long, slow breaths. Under better circumstances, she would have admired the stars, gas clouds, and distant galaxies, but this time, they only contributed to her desperation to leave the Void. She ceased her wandering when her toe struck a metal object. Glancing down, she smirked. She hefted her tuning fork off the rocky ground, taking a moment to collect her thoughts as she stared at her reflection in the gleaming metal. With a small sigh, and a slight nod, she turned around, heading back to her counterpart. Although she came across as completely calm, she still radiated an aura of hatred.

"I _will_ find a way out of this mess you've put us in." She declared with a smile, thrusting the bottom of her tuning fork into the ground. It came to life with purple electricity, heating up the small space between them. "And I'm going to do it _without you._ " Before he had time to register what exactly was happening, Lady N. Tropy slammed her tuning fork into his chest. There was the sharp crackling of glass, and the unmistakable crunch of metal. He fell backwards, barely stopping his head from colliding with a rock. She thrust the tuning fork forward like a dagger. He rolled away at the last second, and the weapon hit the ground so hard, it made a small crater, right where his heart would have been.

He was befuddled, but somehow simultaneously aware of the danger he was in. He continued his roll, dodging two more blows that struck the rocky ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his own tuning fork. Shaking, but still able to rise to his feet, he sprinted in the direction of his only means of defense. Lady N. Tropy slashed her own weapon through the air behind him, sending out small pulses of electricity that reached him just enough to zap him, like touching a doorknob after rubbing your feet across a fuzzy carpet. The shocks he took were enough to make him stumble. Eventually, he fell forward, rolling on his shoulder at the last second before colliding gracelessly with the ground. Now, next to his own tuning fork, he stood, raising it in a defensive gesture. Lady N. Tropy laughed.

"Do you really think you can defeat me, one on one?" She jeered at him, raising her lip in a half-snarl. "Face it, Nefarious...I'm the better, more successful version of you. You have no hope of victory in this. Just give up, and I promise, I'll make it quick and painless for you."

"Not if I can help it." He was uncertain, and it showed. His female counterpart had already shown that she was more than capable of handling problems on her own. _Did I really hinder her?_ he thought, then shook his head, regaining his focus on the current situation. He knew he would review the situation later, but for now, he realized he was in a life or death situation. Survival counted upon his every last calculated move.

"I like your confidence," she crooned, taking two steps forward. He took one step back. "But you need to accept that you're done." She swung her tuning fork - a loud _WOOSH_ was heard, along with the familiar crackling of untamed electricity. He ducked at the last second - had he not, the blow would have connected with his neck, severing his head. "Oh, come now, darling," she sighed dramatically, adding a tired emphasis to the word "darling." "I know you have your pride to think about, as do I, but we both know how this is going to end. And..." she paused, giving him a murderous glare, along with a sneer. "I don't think you're fit to handle just how much I'm really capable of. So why don't you lie down, and take your death proudly?"

The next swipe was aimed at his midsection, and he was unable to get out of the way in time. Her tuning fork struck his unprotected lower abdomen with a harsh _WHUMP_ , sending him sprawling backwards. He landed hard on his back, only narrowly avoiding smacking his head against the ground. His gut burned in agony - he knew she'd ruptured something, if not put a slight fracture into at least one of his vertebrae. He gasped from the pain, coughing roughly. She smiled in a vicious, hateful way; there was no joy in it, only murderous desire.

" _I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME?!?!"_ He found his voice and screamed at her, his mind muddled by the pain, but also thrown into overdrive from his complicated emotional state. At this, Lady N. Tropy merely laughed, leaving him dumbfounded.

" _Love_ _you?_ " She barked, throwing her head back and laughing harder. The sound of it made him think of hyenas...not to mention how much he wanted to kill her for it. "Oh, my dear Doctor." She held her forehead, now chuckling softly, her eyes closed. Such a gesture would have been enticing to him before, but now it only brought forth his rage and hatred. When she calmed, she spoke again. "I will admit, I thought I did. But...you're useless to me, and my goals. Utterly worthless. How could I love anyone like you? You're weak. Tired. Worn out. You've submitted to your fate as being someone who is defeated by _fucking bandicoots_."

The heartache returned with a vengeance. Ignoring the physical agony, Dr. N. Tropy struggled to his feet, using his tuning fork as a cane. His female counterpart laughed again, deepening his seething rage. Betrayed, in more ways than one, by someone he genuinely cared for, was enough to keep him standing, out of sheer defiance if nothing else. He straightened himself out, took two thoughtless steps forward, and swung his weapon down in an arc. His counterpart barely had enough time to respond, but lifted her own weapon at the last second, blocking his attack. The sound of the two tuning forks colliding sent a horrible ringing through both of their ears, and an unpleasant vibration jittering through their teeth. They staggered back from each other, but Lady N. Tropy recovered first.

She turned her tuning fork around, slamming the bottom end of it into his chest, further shattering the machinery that made up his cuirass. In that instant, he swore he felt several ribs fracture. Another blow to the chest sent him colliding with a boulder. This time, he knew at least one vertebra was completely pulverized. Although quickly losing his strength, he was grateful to find he wasn’t paralyzed by that last attack. He saw Lady N. Tropy striding quickly towards him, and raised his weapon. When she was in range, he bluffed a swipe from the left, which she moved to block, then swung around from the right, striking her across the face. Her helmet went flying, and she went sprawling, losing her weapon in the process. It skittered over the edge of the floating island of their prison, and drifted off into space. Her long raven hair flew out in a dark halo behind her before she hit the ground.

She bounced once and rolled, stopping abruptly as her back struck a boulder. Losing no time at all, Dr. N. Tropy began limping his way over to her. She lay still, as though rendered unconscious. He stopped within arm’s reach of her, and suppressed a cry of shock when she reached out, and snatched his tuning fork away from him. With no time to react, he found himself crumpling over, and shrieking in agony. Lady N. Tropy had hit him in the femur, shattering it upon impact. Instinctively, he reached down and grabbed at his newly crippled leg, completely unaware of his counterpart’s next intended moves. She clambered on top of him, digging her knees into his chest, pushing broken machinery further into his torso. His next scream of pain was cut off when her hands wrapped tightly around his neck, squeezing hard and cutting off all air instantly.

He stared up at her, eyes bulging. Her face no longer held the mocking laughter from before – nothing short of pure rage and hatred flooded her features, now. Her twisted grin, the blood trickling from a gash next to her eye, and the dark hair framing her face with an evil aura, would be the last things he would ever see, and he shifted his gaze away so they wouldn’t have to be. Then, he saw her helmet lying just within his reach. His vision faded in and out in rapid succession, and in one last desperate act, he wrenched his arms out from under her, and grabbed the discarded piece of armor. Without thinking about it, he jammed the prongs of her helmet’s miniature tuning fork straight up into her eyes. Immediately, she let go of his throat, and jerked backwards with a terrible cry of rage and anguish.

Not even allowing himself to get a full breath first, his adrenaline overriding all the pain coursing through him, he pushed her onto her back, and sat up as well as he could. Grasping both sides of her helmet, which was now lodged in her skull, he slammed her head down onto the rocky ground. Once, twice, thrice…a total of seven times, until she finally stopped twitching. Blood streamed from her eye sockets, and had splattered him with each time he brought her head down. More poured from a new, gaping wound in the back of her head, staining the ground beneath her. The remaining Dr. N. Tropy surveyed his work with disgust, and turned away.

He dragged himself up to the nearest boulder, and sat with his back propped against it. Although he’d narrowly survived the battle with his counterpart, he could feel his lifeforce draining quickly. The adrenaline had worn off, as did the endorphins, and he was left feeling every inch of his body racked with miserable pain. He closed his eyes, taking in short, staggering breaths – all that his bruised throat would allow. He drifted close to unconsciousness, then heard a few new voices from nearby, kicking up his fight-or-flight instincts once more. The first voice was powerful and commanding, yet also gentle and kind. The second sent waves of unrelenting terror coursing through him. It was deep and terrible, giving him momentary flashes in his mind of the hideous tortures of Hell. The third and final voice was the strangest one. It moved between two and seven dissonant tones all at once, and, despite all its inhuman qualities, both comforted Dr. N. Tropy, and frightened him. It was this third voice that rose and fell in volume and octaves, somehow being both frantic and in-control at the same time.

The conversation – if one could call it that – was brief, and spoken in a language utterly foreign to the Doctor. He strained to hear it nonetheless, but could not equate it to any language he’d ever heard during his travels across Time and Space. Suddenly, the talking ceased, and he wondered if, whoever was there, never knew he was near them, and desperately needed help. Closing his eyes, he shuddered a sigh, and chose to succumb to his fate. Certainly, death was not too far away for him. Then, the sound of rapid footsteps jarred him back to reality again. He stared straight ahead, and with blurry vision, watched a humanoid figure approach him.

“Relax,” this person commanded him – their voice was feminine. He had no chance to protest. His vision faded out, but he was still conscious. He felt two warm, comforting hands cupping his cheeks softly. “I’m here to help. We’re going somewhere safe. Just relax for me.” Just like that, he fell into unconsciousness. In his last moment of awareness, he felt himself being cradled by the stranger’s gentle, yet strong arms.


	2. At Death's Door

Time lapsed in a sloth like manner as Doctor N. Tropy slipped in and out of consciousness. Upon each awakening, he noticed something new about his surroundings. He found himself in a warm, cozy wooden structure, and he was situated on a comfortable bed with a low frame, propped up by several plush pillows. There was a single large, circular window to his right. Outside, a violent storm raged; large raindrops pelted the window, thunder rolled ominously, and lightning flashed in rapid succession. He was thankful to realize that his pain was being mitigated by a morphine drip, plugged into his right arm by an IV tube. His vision swam, spinning and swirling, nauseating him. He dry heaved a couple of times, but when his stomach failed to wretch anything up, it sat heavy in his torso, content with keeping him in the miserable throws of nausea.

He groaned each time a hot wave of pain surged past the morphine blockade, and his body seized up. He nearly screamed, but his bruised and swollen throat prevented any sound beyond a shrill squeal to escape him. Once or twice, between the cycles of sleeping and waking, he became aware of another presence in the strange room with him. Whoever it was, they spoke to him in low, comforting tones, urging him to stay still. Once, when his vision was clear, and sharpened by his instincts acting in response to his agony, he saw the other person. They took the form of a fit young woman, with short black hair, piercing emerald eyes, and a sleek black uniform that seemed as though it could belong to some military organization. Despite their outward appearance, something about them told the Doctor that they were _not_ a woman, or even a man for that matter.

Perhaps it was their quick, practiced movements in removing his demolished armor, or the invisible aura of kindness and care that radiated from them, or even the determined – if not sorrowful – look on their face as they worked. Dr. Nefarious Tropy had never been surer in his entire life that he had no idea who, or _what_ , he was looking at. The final confirmation came when a powerful flash of lightning overpowered the dim firelight of the cozy wooden dwelling, and cast pure white light and pitch black shadows over their surroundings. The stranger’s face twisted into a wide, needle-toothed grin. They had no eyes, but he could swear he felt the gaze of multiple eyes looking him over as they worked. The only reason he was able to suppress a shriek of unfiltered terror, was that he noticed the glowing golden Halo hovering above their head, and the powerful white wings jutting out of their back. The image faded in an instant, and once more, he was left alone with the visage of a normal human woman.

“A-Angel…?!” He croaked. His throat screamed at him, demanding that he refrain from speaking. The stranger nodded, then told him to hush, and that they would explain everything once he was well enough. He did as he was told, and lapsed into unconsciousness again. When he next awoke, he found himself topless – his armor and lab coat had both been removed, and the Angel was carefully taking bits of shrapnel and shattered glass out of his torso. With a sudden burst of strength – and embarrassment – he snatched their wrist, earning a look that said “you should let me work” from them. He let go almost immediately, shifting his gaze away as they carried on with their macabre task.

“I’m sorry,” they said softly as he winced after having a large piece of metal removed from his chest. He glanced down at himself, now fully understanding what sort of trouble he was in. The Angel continued, “I won’t spell out the details, but you’re closer to Death than you’ve ever been before.” He could see it for himself. The blood coating his torso was mixed between dried maroon and fresh crimson, and he couldn’t see just how many bits of foreign objects were stuck inside of him. He felt them, though. Regardless of the morphine the Angel had so generously given him, it couldn’t completely numb the feeling of each wound scattered across his body. It was then that he noticed that one leg of his pants had been snipped away until it resembled booty shorts – it was the leg that had been mercilessly fractured by his counterpart. It was carefully splinted and wrapped in gauze, and it throbbed along agonizingly to the beat of his heart. He realized, then, he truly did have an Angel looking out for him. That injury alone should have been enough to kill him.

**

When he passed out again, he entered into a dream. Or perhaps it was a memory. He found himself sitting at his desk during one of Madame Amberley’s impromptu “morning meetings” at the Academy of Evil. He was fourteen, and utterly bored with school, like most boys his age. Around him sat Neo Cortex, Nolan Gintrey, and Nitrus Brio. At this point in his life, even though they tended to annoy him, he regarded the three boys as good friends – never once did he consider the thought that they may be a part of a team with him in the future, or that there might be nearly irreparable conflicts between them. As far as he was concerned, he liked them just fine.

“Students!” Madame Amberley barked, instantly gaining the attention of everyone in the room. She was a massive woman, not just in weight but in height, too. Nefarious was already six-two, but she towered over him by a good foot and a half. He paid her his undivided attention – every one of her students feared the consequences of invoking her wrath, even over the smallest of infractions. “We have an exchange student joining us today! Give a warm Academy welcome to Azzy!”

Just then, a tall, slim, bookish-looking teenager entered the classroom and stood next to the Academy’s headmistress. They were utterly androgynous. Their face betrayed no leaning towards being a girl or boy; their sandy-brown hair was tied in a simple ponytail down to the center of their back; freckles were splattered across their cheeks and nose; their glasses made their green eyes look larger than normal; and they wore what was traditionally considered to be a “boy’s uniform.” They gave the class a half-grin, nodding at them. When no one said anything, Madame Amberley cleared her throat with a threatening growl, prompting an immediate “Hello, Azzy!” from the class.

Satisfied, Madame Amberley clapped a hand firmly on Azzy’s paltry shoulder. “Azzy will be with us for one year before returning to Prague, but perhaps we can convince them to finish out their education here, instead. Does anyone have any questions for them?” Almost immediately, a hand was raised. The headmistress let out a tired sigh. “Yes, Nolan?”

“Are you a boy, or a girl?” Usually, questions and remarks from Nolan would strike up a chorus of laughter from the rest of the class, but this time, everyone was on the edge of their seats. They all wanted to figure out the new kid. Madame Amberley flushed with a sudden surge of anger, but when Azzy laughed, she calmed.

“It’s alright, ma’am,” they said with a bright smile. Their voice held both the interchanging feminine and masculine qualities of puberty. “I get that a lot. Truth is, I’m neither. I’m a shapeshifter.” Excited murmurs fluttered across the room before a girl raised her hand and asked, “okay, but how do you go to the bathroom?” Azzy laughed again, once more quelling Madame Amberley’s embarrassed anger. “Whatever way is more convenient at the time I have to go.” The students nodded and shrugged to each other, some noting how that made sense.

“Okay, that’s enough questions.” The headmistress snapped, quieting the room at once. They’d tested her patience far enough for one day, and it was only eight-thirty. “Azzy, please find an open seat. Classes begin promptly at nine, so go ahead and take some time to get acquainted with your new classmates.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” They gave her a polite smile and nod, then began working their way towards a vacant desk. Nefarious, who’d not taken his eyes off the new student even once, suddenly felt someone reach under his chin and snap his jaw shut. He jerked in response, shooting Neo a glare.

“Are you going to keep gawking, or are you going to talk to them?” The small, yellow boy shook his head, giving him a teasing smirk. “Your mouth was hanging open since they walked in the door. Looks like someone has a crush.”

“Rubbish!” Nefarious snapped, and a rush of heat flooded his cheeks. “How could I like someone I don’t even know?”

“Beats me.” Neo shrugged, rolling his eyes. “But you’re going to miss your chance to figure that out if you don’t just _talk_ to them. Plenty of others were looking at them the same way.” He paused, his smirk growing slightly malicious. “In fact, maybe _I_ should go see what they’re all about. If they’re really a shapeshifter, then they’d be perfect for helping me with my independent research.”

At that, Nefarious clenched his fists and stood up. He swiveled around on his heel, and nearly ran smack into Azzy. They had set their backpack down on the desk right next to his. “Oh, sorry,” they said, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here.”

“N-no…not at all.” He flushed, extending a hand. “Nefarious Tropy. I-uh…” He cleared his throat and looked away. The shapeshifter grasped his hand and gave it a single firm shake. “N-nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” They gave him a bright, charming smile, and the heat in his face continued to rise. “Say, I was given quarters in resident building C, on the third floor. Could you tell me where that is?”

Neo, Nolan, Nitrus, and Nefarious perked up at this. “You’re with us!” They all said in unison, then looked around at one another. Each of them smiled, and for the time being, Nefarious forgot his inhibitions. Like everyone else in the room, he was eager to uncover the mystery of their new exchange student.

**

The dream-memory ended there, and Dr. N. Tropy awoke to find the Angel still hovering over him, still working meticulously to treat his wounds. They were focused on a piece of shrapnel that, had it been one inch further to the right, would have pierced his heart. He winced and groaned as they removed it, then dropped it into an ever-filling bowl of metal and glass shards. It landed with a distinct _clink,_ and the Angel sighed. He looked at them, uncertain of what was to happen next. They dipped a towel in a bowl of warm water, wrung it out, and began cleaning up the blood. By then, it was all dried, and took several minutes to remove.

“That’s the last of it,” they said, wiping their brow, and pushing the now murky red water away from them. “Hang tight. I have to call in my favorite Healer.” They pressed two fingers to a little metal circle on their temple. It lit up, and they spoke aloud: “Now, Darling.” There was a brief flash of blue light, and a new figure emerged from the shadows. He was tall and handsome, sporting long, grey hair pulled back in a single braid, and small, round spectacles. His light blue eyes shone with laughter, and before uttering a single word, he swept the Angel into an embrace and planted a firm kiss on their lips.

“Mm…” The Angel sighed, smiling softly. “Good to see you, too. Thank you for helping me with this.” They paused, the mirth in their features faltering. “I know you must have gotten a lot of opposition, too.”

“Bah!” The stranger barked a laugh, letting go of his lover. “The Council knows where we stand, and they’re willing to give it a chance. It doesn’t matter what the others have to say about it. Especially not…eh, never mind. You know.” He knelt before the Doctor, examining his wounds closely. “Let me see…most of your ribs are fractured. Obviously, your leg. Hmm…three, no, four fractured vertebrae, a fifth completely pulverized. One punctured lung, but it’s not bad enough to have collapsed. You- “

“Sweetheart,” the Angel interjected. The Healer glanced up at them. “I told him I’d spare the nasty details.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He laughed. “You know I tend to take verbal notes.” He offered the Doctor a glass of water, and he drank it gratefully, relishing the cool relief in his throat. He then closed his eyes, falling silent. Raising his right hand, he passed it slowly down the broken man’s body, starting with his throat, and stopping at his thigh. Each wound he passed over felt as though it were “stitching” itself shut, and gradually, the pain decreased. He spent well over ten seconds holding onto the Doctor’s thigh, before the sensation reached it fully. When he was finished, he smiled and stood up. “There. Darling,” he turned to the Angel. “Be sure to keep a close eye on him. He’s not completely out of the woods, yet.” His lover nodded with a solemn expression.

Before the Doctor could say anything, the Healer spoke directly to him. “You’ll still need to take it easy. You’re no longer mortally wounded, but even I can’t patch up everything.” He paused, noticing the morphine drip. “One more thing…don’t get too comfortable with that stuff. You’ll have to be taken off of it after a day, two tops, or you’ll become dependent on it.”

“Th-thank you…” Dr. N. Tropy coughed, his voice barely more than harsh grunts. The strange man waved him off with a smile.

“No need to thank me. It’s what I do.” He turned back to the Angel, then, pulling them back in for another kiss. This one was longer – it suggested he missed them dearly. “Duty calls, my Love. But I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon enough.”

“I hope you’re right,” the Angel sighed, brushing a lock of grey hair away from his eyes. “You stay safe out there, Darling. Call me if you need anything.”

“Same to you.” He vanished in another flash of blue light, leaving the Doctor alone with the mysterious Angel once more. They knelt down by his side, locking eyes with him for a long, unnerving moment. Staring into their intense gaze, he could have sworn he saw something moving behind their emerald irises and abyssal pupils, something like liquid light and shadow dancing, flowing, and sometimes clashing. “I’m sure you’re bursting at the seams with questions,” they finally broke the silence, their voice even, if not calculated. “I will answer whatever I can, but there are some things I’m not allowed to say.”

“Then…let’s start with something easy,” he rasped, coughing again. The Angel dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a fresh, warm, damp towel. They offered him more water – he gladly took it. “What’s your name?”

“I have many,” they smiled warmly, then produced a blanket from under the bed, and gently draped it over him. “I’ll give you my most common, and most preferred one, though. I’m Azraphael.”

“Azraphael…” He pronounced it slowly, deciding that he liked how the sounds felt rolling off his tongue. They were almost as comforting as the Angel’s presence. “Am I right to assume you’re an Angel, Azraphael?”

“Indeed, you are.”

“And…are you an Angel _of_ something? I know there’s an Angel of Death.”

“I am,” they nodded once, their smile never fading. “But not Death. That’s my friend, Azrael.”

“That makes sense, considering I’m not dead.” He attempted a laugh, but merely coughed painfully. “Can you tell me what you’re the Angel of?”

“Mercy.”


	3. Looking for Mercy

“Mercy?” Dr. N. Tropy echoed Azraphael, giving them a look of uncertainty. They merely nodded, returning his perplexed glance. “Why would the Angel of _Mercy_ want to help me? I’m sure you know I’m evil. It seems more likely that I’d have been left to die.”

“If I were anybody else,” Azraphael began, “ _literally any other Angel_ , yes, you would have been left to die.” There was a new firmness to their voice, and the Doctor wasn’t sure how he felt about it. They were no longer kneeling, but sitting right next to him. Their eyes met again, and this time, the Doctor practically felt them boring into his very Soul. “All but a few decided you were a lost cause. One particular Archangel fought me tooth and nail, trying desperately to keep me from helping you.” They paused, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Luckily, the decision wasn’t his to make.”

“Something tells me you’re not just here to save my life. Am I right?” He lifted an eyebrow, waiting impatiently for an answer. When Azraphael made no reply, he prodded them. “Well?”

“Correct.” Their gaze continued to harden, making the Doctor squirm uncomfortably. “When I take on, let’s call them ‘missions,’ my duty is not to save a mortal life, but an immortal Soul.” To this, the Doctor could make no reply. He shifted slightly, waiting for Azraphael to continue. They lifted a hand to his cheek, stroking it gently with their thumb. Despite their tenderness, there was an undeniable conflict raging behind their eyes. “I’m fighting for yours, Darling.”

_“DON’T CALL ME THAT!!!”_ His response was so quick and so harsh, it startled even him. He recoiled from Azraphael’s touch, his eyes growing wide with shock. “I-I’m…I’m sorry…” His mind had thrown him back to the last time his female counterpart had called him “darling,” with so much venom and disgust, he almost couldn’t bear it. “I…she…” This time, Azraphael’s thumb found his lips, then wiped away the tears he hadn’t noticed were spilling from his eyes.

“Hush.” They ran their fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s a habit of mine. I should have known better.”

He closed his eyes, beginning to relive the fight in his mind. He could practically feel each blow again, threatening to tear him apart. He touched his fingers to his throat, swallowing hard. The pain was mostly gone, thanks to the Angel’s mysterious lover, but he swore he could still feel his counterpart’s hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing mercilessly. He saw her eyes glaring down at him as she strangled him, void of any of the kindness and affection she reserved only for him, consumed by an immense, black hate. He remembered the soul-piercing shriek she let out when he stabbed her in those same, deplorable eyes, and each wet, sickening _whap_ of her shattered skull hitting the ground as he slammed her head down. The fight played itself out, and he began seeing Lady N. Tropy before they lost the battle against the bandicoots. He saw her smile, the way her eyes lit up when he was around, how light and carefree her laugh was when they were alone. They enjoyed all the same wines and teas, and would chat idly for hours about anything under the sun, so long as they didn’t have anything to do. He relived each of the few shy, tender kisses they had shared, and wished he could hold her hand one last time.

“I killed the woman I loved…” When he finally spoke, his voice was choked with tears, pain, and exhaustion. Azraphael silently wiped away his tears, waiting for him to continue. His lip trembled uncontrollably. “I know I had no choice, but…what the _fuck?!_ ”

“I understand.” They leaned forward and kissed his eyelids. The first came as a surprise, making him jump, but he leaned into the second, welcoming it. Although hesitant, he reached out, wrapping his arms around their waist. They pulled him in gently, letting him rest his head against their chest, running their hands through his hair as he sobbed. Never before had he felt so weak, defeated, and utterly lost.

“Wh-what Mercy…i-is there f-f-for me?!” He clung to the Angel as tight as his tired, aching arms would allow. When Azraphael didn’t answer immediately, he screamed into their shoulder. All of his rage, grief, and anguish burst forth from him in one violent eruption of shrill, distorted sound. His fingers dug into Azraphael’s back, threatening to tear through the fabric of their uniform, and draw blood. He collapsed, all at once his muscles unclenching, and allowed the Angel to rub his back in a large, soothing circle. Their other hand cradled his head, keeping his face pressed to their shoulder. Gradually, the Doctor’s sobs faded to tremulous whimpers and whines, and his hold on the Angel slackened. They kissed his temple, lowering him gently onto his back. One arm still held him – somehow strong enough to support his weight, but delicate enough to comfort and sooth – the other found a pillow and placed it under his head. He stared up at them, his vision blurry, his eyes and head throbbing.

“We’ll talk more later. For now, you must rest.” They moved to get up, but he grabbed their wrist. He was sure he looked downright pathetic. Giving him a sad smile, they nodded their understanding. Without another word, they laid down next to him. They welcomed him into their arms once more, and much to his surprise, extended a wing to cover him up. It was soft and warm, heavy like a weighted blanket, and in no time at all, the exhaustion overtook him.

**

The Academy of Evil was abuzz with excitement for a week after Azzy’s arrival. Just about everyone wanted to ask them _something_ about shapeshifters, the exceptions being the small number of students who were made uneasy by the idea of someone who could – theoretically – turn into anything at any time. Neo was particularly bursting with questions, and Azzy patiently answered as many as they could. The small yellow boy had a whole notebook filled with information by the third day of being acquainted with the strange being, and had a generous start on a second. Nolan was only exceptionally curious about what sort of pranks the two could pull off together, and Nitrus was fascinated by the sheer amount of magic a shifter would have to be able to harness.

Nefarious mostly kept watch from a distance, typically only speaking to Azzy when they addressed him first. He was glad to see his friends getting along with the new exchange student, but there were two things even he couldn’t deny forever. One: for a student at a school specifically for _evil children_ , Azzy was oddly kind, and seemed to have a sense of inner peace everyone else at the Academy blatantly lacked. And two: he liked them. He would never admit it to Neo, not after he’d called him out on it so quickly, even before he had a chance to realize it in himself. It was uncanny just how astute Neo could be at times, and how oblivious he was at others. That was something that would never make sense to Nefarious.

“Hey, Nef.” Nolan nudged him at breakfast one morning. He glanced over at the small redheaded boy, lifting an eyebrow. “You’ve hardly touched your eggs. You feeling okay?”

“Uh…yeah. I’m okay.” He shook his head, faking a yawn. “Just tired. I was up late reading last night.” That was a bold-faced lie, but nobody needed to know that. In truth, he was up most of the night just staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out the confusing tangle of thoughts and emotions that was his first crush. He never did reach a conclusion, sleep overpowered him before he was even close to understanding anything. It made no sense to him, but he was sure – at least from what he’d heard from the gossip around school – teenage crushes hardly ever made sense. He cast a sideways glance across the cafeteria, finding Azzy sitting alone with a textbook held open in one hand, and a loaded fork in the other. A light flutter swept through his heart, and he forced himself to look away, stabbing at his eggs, thankful that Nolan had reminded him of their existence. He shoved a forkful into his mouth, hoping his distress wasn’t too apparent.

“What were you reading?” Nitrus sat down on his other side, dropping a hefty pile of books down on the table. “I just finished the fourth volume of Dr. R. Achnid’s _Science and Sorcery for Beginners_.”

“U-uh…” He swallowed the eggs, then blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.”

“That’s always been one of my favorites.” Nitrus smiled, opening the fifth volume of _Science and Sorcery_. He took a bite out of his blueberry muffin, then tuned out the rest of the world, immersing himself in his book.

“Nefarious, you need to work on your lying. We’re getting tested on that next week.” Neo muttered without looking up from his grossly overdue math homework. He had no problem with the work, he just had better things to do than waste his time on meaningless practice equations that always failed to give him a challenge.

Nefarious nearly choked on another hefty bite of eggs. He coughed, smacking his fist against his chest a couple of times to dislodge the obstruction. “Wh-what are you talking about, Neo?” He put his fork down, glaring at the tiny boy. Neo looked up from his paper, sighing and shaking his head, giving the taller boy an unimpressed look.

“Seriously, it’s okay if you’re having trouble with Dr. Zeke’s theories of evil, dead languages.” He shrugged, giving his friends an embarrassed smile. “They’ve kept me up for days before, and I still barely grasp them.” For the first time in his life, Nefarious was grateful for Neo’s tendency to be oblivious.

“Ahaha, okay. You got me.” Nefarious feigned a guilty expression. He pushed the charade further. “Have you been able to make any sense of the Aklo?”

“You’re studying Aklo?” No one had noticed Azzy approach until they were standing next to the boys’ table. They all jumped in alarm. Azzy laughed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you guys.” Nolan scooted over, allowing she shifter to sit right next to Nefarious. Their arm brushed his, and he shivered.

 _Curse you, Gintrey!_ He thought, quickly averting his gaze from the new kid. He locked eyes briefly with Neo, who was giving him a smug grin. Clenching a fist under the table he turned back to Azzy, and mustered up a relaxed smile. “Y-yeah. Why? Are you familiar with it?”

“I speak it.” They said it so casually, they almost failed to register the looks of shocked disbelief on each of the boys’ faces. “What?” They shrugged, reaching over and plucking the Aklo textbook from Nitrus’ pile of tomes. “It’s only difficult because the sounds were never meant for human vocal organs. The grammar is pretty cut and dry.” They opened the textbook to a random page and began reciting the words. It was all nonsense to the boys, but the growls, rolls, clicks, and generally inhuman guttural tones emanating from Azzy’s throat made them all shiver. They’d never realized before just how terrifying a language could be.

“And let me guess,” Neo perked up, pulling out his notebook. “You’re able to speak it because you can transform your vocal organs into ones that make those sounds easily, right?”

“Exactly.” They nodded, smiling brightly when he began excitedly scribbling down this new addition to his ever-expanding collection of information about shapeshifters.

“My friend, you are a fascinating creature! I’ve never heard of a shapeshifter having such fine, minute control over themselves!” Snapping his notebook shut, he leaned over the table, staring intently at the page Azzy was holding open in the Aklo textbook. He heaved a defeated sigh, and gave his friends a half-grin. “And I think we’re all about to see what Dr. Zeke is like when thoroughly incensed…you know, when Azzy totally wipes the floor with him at his own game.”

To this, there was laughter, and Nefarious was able to let his guard down and get a little more comfortable around Azzy. For this, he was grateful, but he knew the sense of peace wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later, he’d be staring down his confusing and frustrating emotions again, and he would have no idea what to do about it.

**

When Dr. N. Tropy awoke from this second dream-memory, he barely had enough time to slap a hand over his mouth to suppress a scream. His whole body burned, ached, and howled at him. It took him less than a second to realize that the morphine drip was no longer planted in his arm. It must have come out sometime during his meltdown, or while cuddled up to Azraphael. His stiff, jerky motions snapped the Angel out of their own slumber. They were on their knees in a flash, pressing a hand to his shoulder, and looking him up and down. Tears stood in his eyes, then spilled over as he snapped them shut, biting back another shriek of pain. Azraphael worked quickly, replacing the IV into his arm. They then held him down gently by both shoulders.

“Be still, my dear,” they whispered, meeting his pain-filled eyes. Theirs reflected his agony, and showed him their sorrow. “As still as you can be. It’ll be over soon.” When he was able to stop himself from thrashing, they let go of his shoulders, opting instead to wipe away his tears, and brush the rogue locks of black hair from his eyes. Eventually, when the numbing warmth flooded his body, he calmed completely, and the Angel smiled down at him. “There. Better?” He merely nodded, unable to find his voice. They sighed, shaking their head. “Looks like it’ll have to be two days before we can take you off the drip. I’m sorry I didn’t anticipate that.”

“It’s…okay…” he croaked, snapping his eyes shut again. His head rolled to the side, and he considered going back to sleep, but there was too much on his mind. There was too much to be discussed with the Angel of Mercy, who, for whatever reason, took it upon themselves to help him, no matter how much opposition they’d been met with. He searched for a question, and only one came to mind in that instant. “Why are you helping me?” He turned his head back to face them, finding them staring down at him with concern plastered across their features. “I _am_ thankful. I mean it. But why?”

“Let me ask you something, first,” Azraphael said slowly, gauging his reaction. He nodded, waiting for them. “Why do you think you led a life of Evil?”


	4. Simon

“I…what?” Dr. N. Tropy understood the Angel’s question, but somehow couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“Why do you think you led a life of Evil?” They repeated themselves patiently, sitting next to him. Their eyes met his once more, and he decided that he liked that confusing chaos behind them.

“Because I’m just evil?” He shrugged, unsure of how to answer. “Because I was abandoned by my parents and raised by Madame Amberley at her Academy of Evil?” He paused, surprised at himself. That was something he’d never told anyone before, not even the N-Team, his closest childhood friends. Maybe it was the morphine lowering his inhibitions. Maybe it was almost dying. Or, just maybe, it was Azraphael. He was content to think it was all three, and didn’t care. The Angel didn’t have to flat-out say that he could tell them anything, he already knew it to be true. Being able to confide in someone, _anyone_ , at his lowest point, was a great gift.

“Ah, yes…the Queen Bitch herself.” Azraphael growled, their voice becoming distorted. The Doctor leaned away from them slightly, unconsciously, not liking the sudden hate present in the Angel that had been so kind to him. They shook their head, squeezing their eyes shut and letting out a long sigh. “She beat it into your head that you were unwanted, that your parents threw you away because of a slight blue tint in your skin. She never actually _knew_ why a baby had suddenly appeared on her doorstep one night, but she took advantage of that to mold you into her idea of a ‘perfect villain.’” They paused, snorting a distasteful laugh. “She was never able to have kids of her own, so she took to abusing the children of others.”

For the seventeen or eighteen years that the Doctor had spent at the Academy, he never once questioned the ethics of it all. It was his life, his daily grind, and he’d always been convinced that it was normal. He never called Madame Amberley “mother,” or anything of the sort – she’d always preferred “ma’am,” or “Madame” – but he looked up to her as a parental figure, nonetheless. Thinking back on it, he did have distinct memories of her often reminding him that he was a freak, and that freaks only had one true place in the world: villainy. Very seldom did she praise him for anything, her style of “parenting” was strict, if not downright militaristic, and mistakes and disobedience were punished severely.

“Do you know why my parents abandoned me?” The question came out before he had a chance to stop himself. It wasn’t something he ever thought about, but now that he was openly discussing it, he wanted to know.

“They didn’t abandon you. They sacrificed themselves so you could live.” The two stared each other down for a long moment after this revelation. The Angel waited for him to speak, and the Doctor didn’t know what to say. He wanted to believe them. After all, why would they lie to him? For some reason, it was a concept that was harder to grasp than just believing what Madame Amberley had told him. He saw the chaos behind Azraphael’s eyes begin to calm, as though trying to reassure him.

“Okay,” he finally said, cautiously. “I want to believe you. Let’s say I do. What happened, then?”

“Your father, William Ensign, liked to experiment with science, sorcery, alchemy, the works. He was discovered by the Church, and his whole family was sentenced to be executed for it. His last act was sending you forward in Time to save you.”

“That’s impossible!” Dr. N. Tropy nearly shouted, unconsciously clenching his fists. “ _I_ was the first person to achieve time travel!”

“It was _your_ invention that made it possible,” Azraphael said calmly. They gauged his reaction for a moment, and when he had nothing to say, they continued. “There’s a loop, and when you’re well enough, you will go back in time and make sure infant-you gets sent to the future. If you don’t keep the loop closed…”

“Then I’ll create a paradox, and will cease to exist…” He didn’t want to consider what that would mean for his Soul. It only took one misstep to collapse a whole timeline, and removing the one person who made a habit of collapsing other timelines for laughs might have consequences greater than he could imagine. He shuddered, pushing the thought from his mind. Instead, he decided on his next questions. “So, what’s my real name, then? Where and when am I from?”

“Simon Ensign. You _are_ from England, and you were born in the year 1603, to William and Maria Ensign.” Azraphael took his hand in both of theirs, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Before you ask, yes, part of the reason I saved you is to complete the loop. You’ll get to meet them…Simon.” One hand found his cheek, and brushed away a stray tear. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying. Without a second thought, he pulled the Angel into a hug. This wasn’t like their previous embrace, with him breaking down completely, holding on so tight he could feel their ribs creaking. Instead, it was the embrace of a man who had just been given his first real ray of hope. To know his true name was incredible, but to be called it by Azraphael? Exhilarating.

“What will I even say to them, Azraphael?” He leaned his head against theirs, closing his eyes and shuddering a sigh. “That their son was made into a monster, so he probably should have just perished with them?”

“None of that.” They ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his back. “What Madame Amberley did to you was _not_ your fault.”

“No, but everything I did after leaving the Academy _is_.” He pulled back slightly, just enough to see their face. They were shedding their own tears, now, and it was his turn to wipe them away. He realized immediately that he hated seeing them cry, especially since the tears were for him. “I can take responsibility for all the destruction I’ve caused, all the lives I’ve ruined…all the lives I’ve _ended_ …” He shook the image of Lady N. Tropy from his mind. He knew she was going to haunt him, and decided that it was his just due for all he’d done over his unnaturally long life. He snorted a laugh. “I’ve long-considered myself a sort of god because of my intellect and capabilities. But what god falls as hard as I have? I feel more like Icarus.” He paused, noticing the flicker of shock in the Angel’s eyes. It was brief, but it was there. “Or maybe Lucifer. I don’t know, they both flew too close to the sun, and it destroyed them.”

“And both of them laughed as they fell.” For a moment, he could have sworn he saw Azraphael staring at his lips, debating whether or not to kiss him. He almost closed the gap, himself, unsure of why he would do such a thing. He could admit to himself that he was attracted to them, but he knew he needed more time to figure them out. His mind went back to his dreams of the Academy, and he realized that this was like his crush on the shapeshifter. However, unlike with Azzy, he felt no desire to keep himself distanced from Azraphael. Then, he thought of the Healer who had helped bring him back from death’s door, how he and the Angel had looked at each other, and how they had kissed. A pang of jealousy shot through his heart, and he sighed, shifting his gaze away from Azraphael.

“Glad to see you two are getting cozy.” A new, deep voice rang out from somewhere in the room, startling the two of them. The Doctor heard Azraphael groan before they let go of him. Another Angel emerged from the shadows. He was a beast of a man, standing over seven feet tall, decked out in gleaming white and gold armor, with a massive sword strapped to his hip. His wings flexed out and back, their pure white feathers complementing his ebony skin rather nicely. As imposing as he appeared, he was beautiful. He radiated the same aura of kindness as Azraphael, but it was mixed with the fierce energy of a hardened warrior. A long, deep scar extended from the crown of his bald head, crossed over his left eye, and ended in the middle of his cheek. He was clearly not an Angel to be taken lightly.

“Archangel Uriel.” Azraphael greeted him with a flat tone, standing up and brushing off their uniform. “Come to try and get in my way again? You remember what happened last time.”

“No.” Uriel grunted, giving them a curt nod. “I’ve been sent to tell you that you’re needed in the Council Hall.”

“Bullshit.” Azraphael challenged him. They had to crane their neck to get a full look at his face. The sight of the two squared up to each other was somewhat comical to the Doctor, but he dared not to laugh. “No one would bother an Archangel to deliver such an unimportant message.”

“It _is_ important.” He clapped a hand on the smaller Angel’s shoulder, and his expression softened. “It’s about…the kids.”

Azraphael’s eyes widened. Their fists clenched, and a low, inhuman growl rumbled from their chest. “You’ll be watching my charge, then?” Their voice came out as a distorted hiss. Their pupils turned to slits, and their sclerae turned black. The sudden change frightened the Doctor. He remembered the terrifying visage he’d caught a glimpse of while they were working on him, and he had to suppress a scream.

“Yes.” When Uriel looked at him, for a moment, he felt like he was going to die. The Archangel patted Azraphael’s shoulder a couple times, his voice growing softer. “Careful, Azraphael. You’re scaring Simon.”

“Just do me a favor, and don’t dig in too much,” they snapped, brushing off his hand. Spinning on their heel, they touched two fingers to the metal disk on their temple. Their voice had a new, hard edge to it. “Call-sign, Cephalo, reporting in.” A pause, Azraphael nodded. “If it’s that urgent, have your commander brief me when I get there. I’m putting an end to this _today_.” Another pause. “Understood. I’ll only be a moment.” Lowering their hand, they turned back around to look at Uriel. Simon – as he decided to try and get used to referring to himself as – slapped a hand over his mouth, fighting back a shriek. Azraphael was transforming right in front of him. It was a slow change, they were clearly trying to hold off, but he was beginning to understand that their control over their emotions dictated how well they kept an appearance together. Not only that, but he was also beginning to see that they really weren’t like other Angels.

Half of their face had changed into a wide, needle-toothed grin, with a large, hollow eye socket. “I might be gone for a couple days,” they hissed. Simon recognized their newly distorted and dissonant voice to be the one that was in a commotion right before he’d been rescued. “Uriel, can I trust you not to be an ass to him?”

“Don’t get your hopes up.” The Archangel smirked, nodding at them. “Give ‘em Hell, Angel. A little bit extra on my behalf.” For one horrifying moment, Azraphael’s grin became whole, and then they vanished. Uriel walked slowly over to the Doctor, and knelt down on one knee by his side. He looked the battered man up and down, not bothering to conceal the dislike in his amber eyes. “So,” he began, holding his arms out. “I finally get to meet the great Doctor Nefarious Tropy.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. “Or do you want to go by Simon, now that you know your real name?”

“Um…Simon.” He shrugged, squirming uncomfortably. “I can tell you don’t like me.” Before he could ask him why, Uriel laughed.

“Great!” The Archangel clapped his gloved hands together. “That’ll make this much easier for both of us. I’m sure old Azraphael has already told you all about how no other Angel in their right mind was willing to take a stand for you like they did. Personally, I think they’re wasting their time. But you’d know all about wasted time, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, like I’m sure you’d know all about intentionally pissing people off.” Simon snapped his retort before thinking about it, and immediately hoped he wouldn’t come to regret it. To his surprise, and relief, Uriel barked out a hearty laugh.

“Not your most eloquent, but you’re not wrong. How old are you now, Simon? Five thousand? Six?”

Simon shrugged. “I lost track around five.” He wasn’t surprised that his greatest secret was no secret at all to the Angels. When he began experimenting with time travel at fifteen years old, he never imagined it would grant him quasi-immortality. All he’d known at the time was that each trip back or forward in Time turned his skin a little bluer, and a little colder. Time travel felt incredible, and it didn’t take long before he was obsessed. Around thirty-eight years old, he stopped aging physically, and he discovered that he could spend as long as he wanted in whatever time period he desired. He’d used up centuries, just exploring and learning as much as he could. When he got bored with Earth, he moved on to alien civilizations. Many of them even welcomed him as an intellectual equal. It was no wonder he’d acquired a god complex.

“Did Azraphael tell you what they’re trying to do?” Uriel’s voice snapped him back to the present moment.

“Not exactly. They told me they take on ‘missions’ to save Souls.”

“Oh, and they’re going to have a _field day_ with you.” Uriel shook his head, staring down Simon with unmasked disapproval. “You see, when an Angel takes on such a mission, it becomes their responsibility to save the Soul from Eternal Damnation…or, for the lucky ones, forced servitude to Hell’s masters. Souls regularly go through mortal incarnations, but at some point, they all have what we call a ‘deciding life.’ It’s a specific time in their existence in which they choose the Light, or the Darkness. Once the decision has been made, it becomes damn near impossible to reverse it.” He stood, looking down at the tall blue man who looked so small and pathetic next to him. “Just think on that for a minute, Simon. Try to understand what sort of position you’re in, and how much penance you’ll have to pay.”


	5. Guilt and Remorse

Uriel had prepared a hearty beef stew, and made no fuss about having to take care of the frail, broken man. The stew was easily one of the best things Simon had ever eaten, but he was too lost in thought to really enjoy it. Uriel’s explanation of what was happening to him frightened him to the core. He couldn’t even dismiss Hell as being only a possibility anymore, now that he’d met not one, but _two_ Angels. The men hardly spoke to one another after their uncomfortable talk when Azraphael left, and they both seemed to like that just fine. Once, Simon had mustered up the courage to ask why Uriel disliked him so much. All he got as an answer was: “you’re seriously asking me that, after acknowledging how much you’ve fucked up during your life?” After hearing it said out loud, Simon internally agreed that it was a dumb question. It was then that he really got to thinking about everything he’d done.

He tried to put a number on how many lives he’d ended, but quickly came to realize there was no way to calculate it. There were the ones he knew he was directly responsible for, but there were so many countless others who were once what he brushed aside as “collateral damage.” When he closed his eyes, he could see cities burn, hear the screams of the dying, and remember how alive it had made him feel. He’d never had a reason to care before – he was evil, and that’s all there was to it. It was his job. It was his reason to exist. Now, it haunted his every waking moment. He’d been knocked down so hard, and so fast, and was reduced to the very state he took pleasure in putting others in. Life had a way of coming around full circle like that, and no amount of time could ever stop it from someday happening.

One memory in particular kept him up for a whole night. He was ticking off his three thousandth year of unnatural life, and he was bored. To celebrate the occasion, he set himself up in a comfortable spot outside the bounds of space and Time, and began collapsing timelines for shits and giggles. With each one, a hot, powerful wind rushed past him, invigorating him. Each gust carried with it a dissonant chorus of howls. For over two thousand years, he thought it was just the sound Time made when it was irreparably broken. Now, being able to think back on it rationally, and having learned a bit about existence from the Angels, he recognized them for what they really were. They were the shrieks of trillions of Souls, being ejected to god only knew where. For all he knew, they could be lost, and the Angels, and possibly other powerful beings, could be dealing with rounding them all up and finding a new home for them.

**

Sleep came eventually, and when it did, he was dropped back into his life at the Academy of Evil. By this point, Azzy had been there for three months, and they’d become best friends with the future N-Team. It helped that they all shared the same residence hall, and were able to easily sneak to each other’s rooms after curfew to have more time together. Nolan won a bet against the other boys – about whether or not he could get Madame Amberley to sit on a tack and accuse someone _other_ than him – and was granted the right to make his friends watch bad horror movies with him on Friday nights for the rest of the year. Azzy didn’t take part in the betting, but they joined the boys every Friday, nonetheless.

It was during one of these get-togethers that everyone but Nolan and Azzy was made horrifically uncomfortable with an impromptu sex scene right before the heroine was brutally murdered. Nolan hooted and hollered, wolf-whistling and nudging Neo and Nitrus. Azzy was completely indifferent to it. They shrugged it off and stuffed their mouth with more popcorn. Neo looked like he was going to be sick, and was yelling at Nolan to either put in a new movie, or fast-forward. Nitrus snapped his eyes shut and plugged his ears with his fingers, asking the others to poke him when it was over. Nefarious pulled his knees up to his chest and put his head down, wishing more than anything that Nolan would have at least _warned_ them all about this. They all knew he’d seen all of his shitty movies more than three times each.

Nefarious looked up, perplexed, when Azzy laughed. He knew he was blushing, but didn’t care enough at the moment to try and hide it from them. “Sorry, sorry.” They offered him some popcorn, which he took gratefully. “I just think it’s funny when teenage boys are grossed out or embarrassed by the one thing every adult says they all want.” For as kind as they were, they could throw some good jabs when they really wanted to.

“Oh, yeah?” That struck a chord in Nefarious. He wasn’t upset by their remark, but decided to rise to challenge it, anyway. “And what do all teenage shapeshifters want?” He immediately realized that was the worst thing he could have said in front of the guys – _especially_ Neo – and regretted it. The other boys were staring at him with wide eyes and open mouths, and Nolan even paused the movie. Their gaze shifted to Azzy, who appeared as though they’d been backed into a corner. Nefarious decided he was okay with that. He’d never seen them look perturbed before, and he liked it – it was cute.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Azzy mused, shrugging once and reaching out for another handful of popcorn. “I haven’t met many shifters, but I think most of us would say we want to stop being asked what’s in our pants.” They flicked a single piece of popcorn into their mouth. “Or if we can imitate a certain person someone wants to fuck.”

“ _Gross!_ ” Neo groaned, looking utterly disgusted. “Have people really asked you to do that?!”

“Oh, hell yeah.” They nodded, rolling their eyes. “At first it’s just weird and pretty easy to brush off, but after a while, it’s obnoxious and demeaning. It’s happened at least six times since I got here.”

Nefarious got up abruptly. He held his stomach, faking illness. “I need to go.” Ignoring the others’ protests and questions, he hurried out the door. In truth, he did feel sick to his stomach, but it wasn’t a virus or something he ate, it was jealous rage. It hit him so suddenly, so unexpectedly, he needed to be alone to process it. Jealousy wasn’t a new thing for him, but in this specific context, it was. This kind of jealousy hurt. He bolted into his room, slamming and locking the door behind him. Pressing his back to it, he slid down to the floor, head in his hands.

“Fuck, _fuck!_ ” Just when he thought he was getting comfortable with his feelings; they’d been scrambled all over again. There was a brisk knock on his door, startling him. “Go away!”

“It’s me.” It was Azzy. Just what he absolutely did _not_ need right at that moment. “Can I come in?” He debated it for several moments in silence, then sighed, getting back to his feet and letting them inside. “Are you okay? You’ve worried us.”

“Y-yeah.” He looked away from them, unable to stand the look of concern in their eyes. “I think the chicken quesadillas aren’t sitting too well.” When he finally dared to meet their gaze again, he knew they knew he was lying through his teeth. “Okay. Fine. No, I’m not okay.”

“Look, if it was my comment about teenage boys, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that.” He clenched his fists, snapping his eyes shut. Every part of him wanted to blurt out his feelings like an idiot, but he maintained enough control to skirt around that. “I can’t stand that some bastards here actually asked you if you’d…you know.” He glanced at them again. Their head was cocked to the side, one eyebrow raised – this was their typical way of telling someone they didn’t quite get the point. “It just…I don’t know, it makes it seem like people only look at you like an object.” Still avoiding the point, he carried on, doing his best to avoid rambling. “A-and I care about that because I care about you. You’re my friend. You’re a person, not a toy.”

The hug that came was completely unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. It was the first time Azzy had ever embraced him, and it momentarily stunned him. His heart jumped into his throat, beating fast. Unsure of how to respond – and, if he had to be honest with himself, resisting every compulsive urge to back them up to the wall and kiss them – he tentatively wrapped his arms around their shoulders. Closing his eyes, he breathed a sigh, and allowed his muscles to relax.

“I appreciate you, Nef. I’m glad we’re friends.”

**

The dream ended abruptly when Simon was awakened by one of Uriel’s hearty laughs. He grunted, biting his tongue, although he wanted to snap at the Archangel for pulling him so unceremoniously back into the waking world. Soon enough, the thoughts and memories that haunted him would come rushing back, and he’d be stuck with them again. He considered trying to go back to sleep, but knew it would be fruitless. He sighed and looked in the direction of Uriel’s laughter. His heart clenched with a sudden pang of terror when he saw the _other_ in the room. Had it not been for that wide, needle-toothed grin, he wouldn’t have known it was Azraphael.

They were huge, easily eleven feet tall, but seemed even taller by floating several inches off the ground. They were splattered with blood from top to bottom – it looked fresh. He could smell it from across the room. He could have sworn he’d seen that particular creature before, but he couldn’t remember where or when. Instinct caused him to screw his eyes shut and block out the image. Reminding himself it was only Azraphael, he forced them back open. By then, the Angel appeared as the young woman again, and was free of all gore. They smiled warmly at him, walking over to his bedside. Brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, they chuckled.

“I hope Uriel wasn’t too awful.” They meant it in a teasing way, but there was a note of concern in their voice.

“H-he was fine,” Simon said quickly. The vision of that damned grin was stuck behind his eyelids. He thought it was an improvement over the memories of his sins, but not by much. “He’s a good cook.”

“Thanks,” Uriel chuckled. “Next time, I’ll make my famous lobster bisque.”

“Ooh, you’d better make sure I’m there for that one.” Azraphael elbowed him playfully, then sat on the bed next to Simon. “Thanks again, Uriel. I’ll take it from here.”

“Sure thing, Angel. See you around.” He nodded to Simon. “And I hope I’m wrong about you.” With that, he was gone, leaving the two alone once more.

“Where did you go?” There were a million questions the Doctor wanted to ask, but that was the first that came to mind. “Uriel said something about kids before you took off.” The darkness that clouded Azraphael’s expression scared him. He unconsciously shrank back from them. “Sorry, never mind…”

“It’s fine,” they said flatly. “An alternate Earth in which children were routinely rounded up and had their Souls harvested for the pure energy they produced. The ones who aren’t harvested are entrusted with keeping the practice going.” They paused, giving him a wild, sadistic grin. “I got to go a little nuts putting a stop to it. It’s not often I get to unleash my inner beast.” They looked down at their hands, their smile fading, and let out a soft sigh. “I wasn’t always an Angel.” They turned their gaze back to him; tears had welled up in the corners of their eyes, and those eyes clearly showed all the grief and remorse they carried with them over untold ages. “I was a true monster before I turned to the Light.”

Simon shifted, grunting in discomfort as he sat up. As far as he was concerned, he’d had enough bedrest, and was ready to get up and move around a bit. He didn’t want his muscle wasting away. “You see me, Azraphael,” he said, placing a tentative hand on their shoulder. “ _I’m_ a monster. I spent millennia causing chaos and destruction just because I could, because it felt right, because I was raised for it. Hell, I almost rewrote a whole timeline and erased the only friends I ever had.” He paused, taking a moment to think about what he’d just said. His only friends, the N-Team, the ones he grew up with at the Academy…and the ones he so carelessly betrayed. He realized that his recent dreams were having an effect on him, one that made him understand just how much he screwed up by letting his friends go.

“A super-inflated ego and narcissism, plus being too smart for your own good, plus having a bad temper and a lust for power and control…” Azraphael shook their head, giving him a knowing look. “I get it. I’ve been there, too.”

“And yet you still want to help me. Why?” He dropped his hand from their shoulder, staring down at it as the Angel had stared at their own hands. There was nothing there, but he imagined he saw blood – a _lot_ of blood.

“Because if I was able to change, I know you can.” Their voice was suddenly strong and determined. He looked back up at them, meeting their eyes. They blazed with the sort of righteous fury he imagined only Angels could experience. It scared him a little, but more than that, it gave him hope. “I believe in you, Simon.” They took his hands in theirs, squeezing them tight. “Are you willing to work for your Redemption? Are you willing to fight to undo the thousands of years of damage that you and others have done to you? Are you willing to follow me, accept my guidance, and bring your Soul back from Darkness?”

“Yes.” The word came out without a second thought. He squeezed their hands back. “Yes, Azraphael. If you truly believe I’m capable of achieving such a great change, then…then I think I can believe it, too.”


	6. Growing Pains

The smile that broke across the Angel’s face was the sweetest, most radiant smile the Doctor had ever seen. It was bursting with hope, joy, relief, and perhaps a little bit of triumph. He didn’t know exactly what he was getting himself into, but as far as he was concerned, that didn’t matter. Uriel had warned him that Azraphael would have a “field day” with him, so he was pretty sure that meant he was in for some much-deserved, and long-overdue suffering. In that moment, he didn’t care. His Faith was wholly in Azraphael, who had decided to confide in him the shame of their own Evil past. He had no words to tell them how grateful he was, not just for not being left to die, but for the unconditional kindness and support they’d given him in just a few days of scraping him off that rocky platform. He was eager to get started, but was resigned to wait until he was strong enough to leave the cozy wooden room.

The next few days were rough – true to their word, Azraphael had to take him off the morphine drip. Uriel had begun weaning him off of it while they were away, and that went alright, but once he was completely off the stuff, he’d never felt worse. His body was racked with pain. Sometimes, it was bad enough that he screamed, unable to help himself. Azraphael had a temporary solution, in which they held his hands and told him to give them his pain. All he had to do was imagine his pain as an energy, and “push” it into Azraphael’s hands. They took it, and replaced it with their own, healing energy. Every time, Simon felt bad about it; he could see that it actually put them in discomfort, and they weren’t as good at hiding it as they thought they were. A few times, he tried to tough it out and refuse, but a few minutes of increasingly worse agony broke him.

Azraphael wouldn’t allow him to stand. Sahl’resh – their lover who had healed him – warned them that his femur was messed up so badly, it would need to take some time to heal naturally. He’d done what he could for Simon, and that was enough. He decided that if he were to ever see the Healer again, he’d thank him properly, as a gentleman should. Azraphael merely smiled at the idea, patting his shoulder gently. They’d managed to get him in a wheelchair. The four fractured vertebrae didn’t give him too much trouble. The fifth – the _pulverized_ one – however, was another story. He knew it would never be fully healed, and that when he was done with the wheelchair, he’d spend the rest of his life walking with a cane. Azraphael told him this as delicately as they could, but it still stung. At least, he reminded himself, he hadn’t been paralyzed. For that, he was beyond thankful.

While spending time with Azraphael, the dream-memories of the Academy of Evil were an almost nightly event. He relived memory after memory of the time he spent with his best friends, and eventually, he found himself praying – at least in his mind – that they would forgive him. He knew confronting them was inevitable, and he knew it was going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. However, he needed to give it a shot, and if there was one thing he’d learned from nearly dying and being nurtured back to health, it was that Pride was foolish, and only ended in self-sabotage. He never thought he would regret his Pride; it was what had kept him going down the same path for so long, and he couldn’t deny that he’d accomplished far more than he’d ever dreamed of because of it. But, as hard as it was to admit it, he also knew it was what had landed him in his current situation. He’d allowed his Pride to drive him for so long, humility hurt.

**

One night, while contemplating his Pride, and curled up under Azraphael’s protective wing, he was launched into a dream-memory that really stood out to him. He was leading Azzy by the hand through a rundown section of the city that housed the Academy of Evil. The guys weren’t there, it was just the two of them. They reached a wooden fence with “KEEP OUT” spray painted across the crumbling planks. Nefarious pushed a few out of the way, opening a gap in the fence just big enough for them to clamber through. On the other side was an abandoned clock tower. He led the shapeshifter through a busted-out window, and grabbed a lantern he’d set on an empty oil drum. Pulling a book of matches from his pocket, he struck one and lit the lantern. He jerked his head to the side, grinning at Azzy, then began ascending flight after flight of rusty metal stairs. When the two finally reached the top, Nefarious pushed open an old wooden door.

“Welcome to my hideaway, Azzy.” He stepped forward, waving an arm theatrically. “I come here whenever I need to get away from the Academy.” The dust and cobweb-covered gears that no longer moved the giant clock’s hands sat on the far side of the room. Above them, high up in the rafters, was the rusty old iron bell that would never toll again. Nefarious had managed to find a bed for his little sanctuary, which was situated against the wall underneath a large, circular window. There was a bookshelf next to it, but he had far too many books for them to all fit on it. Bits of experimental machinery were scattered across the floor, most of which looked like they had failed in an explosive way. The walls were littered with scrawled equations done in black marker. Most of them were obviously recent additions to the mess, but a good portion of them had faded to the point of being unreadable.

“Sorry about the mess.” Nefarious kicked an empty soup can out of the way. “I didn’t think there’d come a day when I’d actually bring someone here.” He turned around to face his strange friend. They were taking in the sights, looking at everything with equal parts wonder and appreciation. Nefarious blushed at this, averting his gaze from them. Eight whole months since Azzy’s arrival, and he was still on the fence about getting his feelings off his chest. If he had to be honest with himself, that was why he’d taken them to his hideaway, so they’d have somewhere truly private to talk about it. Now he was there, alone with the shifter, and he was choking on his words.

“I don’t mind.” Azzy smiled. “This is really cool, Nef. Does anyone else know you’ve got this place?”

“Nope.” He set the lantern on the floor and sat on the bed. Patting the spot next to him, he waited for Azzy to join him. Once they did, he gripped his knees, and stalled for time to get his thoughts together. “Nolan is too much of a loud-mouth, and he’d let it slip. Neo would be too afraid of all the spiders. And I’m pretty sure Nitrus would break his neck falling down the stairs.”

“Well, thank you for showing me, Nef. I think this is really special.” They bent over and picked up one of his failed experiments. “What’s this for?”

“A secret.” He lowered his guard a bit, giving them a sly grin. “But I guess I can tell you, if you really want to know.”

“Does it have to do with your independent research, like how Neo is fascinated with biology and mutation?”

“Bingo.” He snapped his fingers, giving them finger guns. They laughed at this, returning the gesture. “Azzy…I’m going to be the first person in recorded history to not only achieve time travel, but to _master_ it.” Their eyes widened at this. “I know, it’s risky, but I _know_ it can be done.”

“I don’t doubt you,” they said, putting the busted machine back down. “But from the looks of it, you’re probably going to need larger equipment than this.”

“Oh, I know. These are just miniature prototypes. If something is going to blow up in my face, I’d rather not die.” Azzy laughed again, nodding in agreement. Nefarious decided that he had to hurry up and say something, or he never would. “Hey, you’ve heard about the dance this Saturday, right?” And just like that, he skirted the issue again, but clung close enough to it that he’d at least have one more chance.

“Yeah, why?”

“Are you going?” He clenched his jaw in frustration. Why couldn’t he get _anything_ out right?

“I haven’t given it much thought.” Azzy shrugged. It never failed to amaze and irritate Nefarious how they could play the indifference card so well.

“W-well, I-I was wondering…” He grabbed his knees tighter, sinking his fingers into the cartilage. They were definitely going to bruise. “W-would you maybe like to go with me? As-as my date?” The heat in his face was almost unbearable. He thought he must have looked like a beet. A nervous, squirming beet.

“Sure. That sounds like fun.” Their smile was wide and genuine; it sent a flutter through Nefarious’ heart, and he smiled back unconsciously. He was finally one step closer to conquering his fear, and, just maybe, one step closer to asking to be Azzy’s boyfriend.

**

The Doctor woke up, still snuggled up to Azraphael, and for the first time fully registered his surroundings. He saw the same circular window of the clock tower, and although there were no gears, if he squinted hard enough, he could see motionless clock hands against a stained-glass face. Straining his vision even harder, he could make out the outline of the bell hanging from the rafters. Now that he was thinking about it, even the bed was the same shape and size as the one he’d dragged up those rickety stairs, only without the musty smell. There were no equations scrawled across the walls, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Angel had kept him in a variation of his boyhood hideaway. He remembered, when they rescued him, they’d told him they were going to take him somewhere safe. He’d almost forgotten just how safe he always felt when locked away in his – yes, _his_ – clock tower.

Azraphael yawned and retracted their wing, beginning to sit up. Simon wasted no time at all. “Azraphael, are we in my old sanctuary?”

They gave him a sleepy smile and a nod. “It was your favorite place, right?”

“Yes. How did you know that?” He gave them a look of intense scrutiny, trying to see if their eyes would give anything away. It didn’t work.

“I’m ancient, and it’s my job to know these things.” They shrugged, standing up. “I’m going to start breakfast. Do you need help getting in the chair today?”

Simon huffed a sigh. He could tell that prodding the Angel wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “Let me try it, first.” He worked his way over to the edge of the bed, gripped one arm of the wheelchair, lifted off the bed with the other arm, and gracelessly fell onto the floor. He let out a yelp of pain, groaning and gritting his teeth. Azraphael was at his side in an instant, carefully picking him up. They were moving to put him back in bed, but he shook his head, squeezing their shoulder. “N-no. I can sit. I need to keep my arms active.”

“Stubborn as usual.” Azraphael shook their head, giving him a weary smile before setting him gently in his wheelchair. He shifted uncomfortably from side to side, then grabbed his pillow off the bed and put it behind his back. “If it gets to be too much, let me know. _Please_ don’t try getting up on your own.” Although reluctantly, he did as they asked. He spent a good couple of hours after breakfast just wheeling around the room, getting used to maneuvering the chair. When his arms ached, and his back hurt too much to keep sitting up, he asked them to put him back in bed. They happily obliged, apparently grateful that he knew his limits.

That evening, during dinner, Azraphael dropped an unexpected bombshell on him. It made him wonder if they could read his mind. “Tomorrow, we’re going to Dr. Cortex’s castle. It’s time to begin work on reconciling with your friends.” Simon nearly choked on a bite of his lemon pepper grilled chicken – he wondered if all Angels were good at cooking, or if he just got lucky with Azraphael and Uriel. “I know you might not feel ready for it, but…trust me, it’s better to get these things done sooner rather than later.” They paused, setting their fork down on their plate. “There’s something I have to warn you about before we leave this place.” Simon waited for them to continue – they were teaching him the value of having patience with them. They took a deep breath, clearly uncomfortable with what had to be said.

“If you don’t think they’ll forgive me,” Simon began cautiously, “it’s okay. I’ve already accepted that possibility.”

“It’s not that, Da- err, Simon.” They caught themselves before calling him “Darling,” much to his relief. He was sure that, in due time, he’d be okay with it, but he wasn’t ready yet. “Uriel told you about what sort of responsibility I’ve taken with you, right?” He nodded, wondering if they were about to tell him he was, like the others said, probably a lost cause. “This means there will be forces of Darkness fighting tooth and nail to tempt you to give up, and join them instead. There’s nothing I can do about that. It’s going to be up to you to stay the course. But it is your choice. I can’t force you to do this. You can back away at any time.”

Simon considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “No.” Azraphael cocked their head to the side, lifting one eyebrow. “I won’t waste this chance you’ve given me, Azraphael.” He reached out, hoping they’d get the hint. They did, and took his hand, rubbing the back of it with their thumb. He smiled at them, and they returned the gesture warmly. “I’m in this for the long haul, for better or worse.” He shifted a little to the side when they sat down on the bed next to him.

“If you’re serious- “

“I am!” He interrupted them. They gave him an annoyed look. “Sorry, sorry. Please, continue.”

“If you’re serious about this, you need to understand that it’s going to be difficult. You’re likely going to want to turn back to Evil.” He was about to argue with them, but they pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ve done this many, many times before, Simon. But…” They looked down, lowering their hand. “I confess, you’re the most difficult case I’ve ever taken on. I don’t exactly know how I’m going to do it, but I couldn’t just let you go.” They looked as though they were about to cry, and Simon wanted more than anything to take their sorrow away. “All I can do is swear to you, on my Sword, on my Soul, I will _not_ give up on you.”

“And I won’t let you down, Azraphael.” He decided to test his luck. Lifting one of their hands, he kissed the back of it. They smiled, and all was well again. “I swear it.” He had no idea just how hard it was going to be to keep his word, but for the one who saved his life and believed in him, he was willing to do anything, or die trying.


	7. The Dance

After their not-so-uplifting talk the night before leaving the safety of the sort-of clock tower from Simon’s youth, he and Azraphael settled in for bed. He was too embarrassed to tell them, but he loved getting to cuddle with them. He loved the comforting weight of their wing, the warmth of their arms, and just knowing he wasn’t alone. It made him sad to know that someday, he wouldn’t have this anymore. Long after the Angel had fallen asleep, he was still awake, still contemplating what they’d told him. He pulled them a little closer, almost afraid to let go. But afraid of what? Of that, he wasn’t exactly sure. All he knew was that he had no idea what sort of problems the “forces of Darkness” would create for him. At last, after hours of worrying, he finally shut his mind off enough to fall asleep.

**

The dance was almost ready to begin, and Nefarious didn’t see Azzy anywhere. He checked his watch repeatedly – practically every thirty seconds – until a hand rested on his shoulder, making him jump. He whirled around on his heel, and was both shocked and ecstatic to see Azzy. If he were to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if they really meant it when they said they’d go with him, or if they were being sarcastic. He looked them up and down, a blush creeping across his cheeks. He didn’t know whether to call them beautiful or handsome, but decided that whatever the word was, it was correct. They wore a sleek black tuxedo, complete with tails and a blood red bowtie. Simple, but perfectly elegant.

“You-you look…you look nice. Good. Great. Stunning.” He cringed internally at himself, willing himself to _shut the hell up_. He wore a simple black three-piece suit, with an electric blue tie and a white carnation on his lapel.

“Thanks. You look nice, too.” The shapeshifter smiled and reached out, adjusting his tie. He froze, stiffening. “So,” they held out their hand. “Shall we dance?” He wasn’t sure what they were expecting, but it couldn’t have been what actually happened. He took a step back, lifted their extended hand, bowed, and planted a light kiss to their fingers. A look of surprise flashed across their face, then they giggled. “I’m glad to see there are still gentlemen in the world.”

“Only when it counts.” He dared a wink and a smirk, hoping he didn’t look stupid. “Let’s go, Azzy.” Hand in hand, the pair joined the rest of the students in the gymnasium. Already, Nefarious could see Nolan making an utter fool of himself, and had to repress the urge to facepalm. The smaller boy had clambered up onto a table, and was swinging his suit jacket around above his head, all the while belting out an off-tune harmony to the current song. Nefarious groaned and hung his head, knowing it wouldn’t be long before Nolan was pelted with the food and drink of the students who would inevitably get fed up with his antics. He attempted to move to the far side of the gym, but it was too late. The two had been spotted.

“Hey, Nefarious!” Neo called over from the punch bowl, waving to them. “Azzy! Come try this!” Before Nefarious could protest, Azzy was pulling him along towards the small yellow boy. He handed each of them a glass of toxic green liquid.

“What, dare I ask, did you do to this?” Nefarious lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, sniffing at the drink. It smelled strongly of green apple.

“Nothing!” Neo looked offended, then let out a small, evil chuckle. “Yet. I just figured you should have some _before_ I do something.” He watched with a smirk as Azzy bravely took the first drink. Nefarious almost snatched it away from them, but he was too late. He waited, horrified of what might happen to the shapeshifter. He had half a mind to smack that smug, expectant look off of Neo’s face.

“You _did_ do something.” Azzy chuckled, taking another sip. “Mmm…green apple schnapps and caramel liquor. Nice touch.” They took another drink, longer this time, then refilled their empty cup. Nefarious watched them incredulously, then gave Neo a look of pure disbelief. “But I have to ask, how did you manage to get ahold of alcohol, let alone sneak it onto campus?”

“Evil geniuses don’t share their secrets so easily, my friend.” Neo laughed. He looked up at Nefarious, then gestured to his still untasted drink. “Well? Azzy likes it. Aren’t you going to at least try?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Nolan, who was being pulled forcefully off of the table. “He only had three sips, and he’s losing it. Nitrus had the same amount and got sick.”

“I’m not surprised,” Azzy said, putting a hand over the top of Nefarious’ cup before he could get it to his lips. He took the hint and gave it to them. “Just because I can take it, doesn’t mean everyone can. There’s so much booze in this, there’s almost no punch left.”

“I never said I was an expert bartender.” Neo shrugged. “I just figured everyone would have a lot more fun if they were a little tipsy. This is our second year with school dances, Nefarious, and they’ve all been such a drag.” He paused, blushing a little and scratching at the back of his head, looking down. “Also, I thought it would be easier to find a girl to dance with me if her inhibitions were lowered.” Nefarious had a sudden urge to pick Neo up and shake him violently. But then he remembered, this was a school for Evil children, and it was just in their nature to do something so wrong, and so incredibly stupid to each other.

“Just hope you don’t get caught, Neo.” Nefarious shook his head, then watched in amazement as Azzy polished off their second cup, and began working on the one they took from him. “Damn, Azzy! Slow down!” They merely shrugged, then pointed to where their liver was supposed to be. He understood – they modified it. Nefarious heaved a frustrated sigh, then glared at Neo. “Well, good luck. Try not to kill anyone with alcohol poisoning.” He took Azzy by the hand and practically dragged them away from the punch table, lest they be accused of spiking it. Azzy gulped down the rest of their “punch” and tossed the cup in a garbage can. “Sometimes, it really weirds me out how you can just…do stuff.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” They took his hand just as the song changed to something soft and slow. It was Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” “I’ll lead, if you want.” Stunned, all he could do was nod in agreement. The shapeshifter’s movements were smooth and practiced, and despite Nefarious having never danced before, he was able to follow them easily. They moved him gracefully, swinging, twirling, and occasionally dipping him down. He was utterly unable to take his eyes off of theirs. Once or twice, when they were especially close, it took all of his willpower to stop himself from kissing them right then and there, in front of everyone. Their smile was radiant, a white beacon in the darkness of the gym. He couldn’t take it anymore. Once the song was over, he held both of their hands, determined to get it over with, come what may.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” He knew his face was a flushed mess, and was grateful for the distinct lack of light.

“Always. What’s up?” They grinned, waiting patiently.

“Err, not here. Somewhere private.” He waited, afraid that they would refuse. When they nodded, he was momentarily relieved, then frightened again. Now he had no choice but to tell them. Without another word, he held their hand – hoping his wasn’t horribly sweaty – and took them out of the gym. The two walked in silence, down the halls, up the stairs, and eventually to the roof. The moon was full that night, and in spite of the lights of the city, the stars were out in full force. Nefarious led Azzy away from the door they’d exited from, and out of sight of it. They stood at the edge of the building, looking out over the vast courtyard below.

“Are you okay, Nef?” Azzy broke the silence, looking at him with concern.

“Yes, and no.” He sighed, snapping his eyes shut. “I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while, Azzy.” When he looked at them again, they were waiting with their head cocked, and their eyebrow raised. “You see, I…I…” He gulped; his knees were shaking. He took them by both shoulders, locking eyes with them. “I like you. A lot. I’ve been wanting to tell you this for months, but every time I tried before, I chickened out. Truth is, I’ve never felt this way about someone before, and it scared me. But…but…oh, god damn it. Fuck it.” Without thinking it through, he pulled the shapeshifter in, and crushed his lips to theirs – a slight taste of honey, and some tart berry teased his palate. He figured it was as good of an attempt as any at a first kiss. However, Azzy tensed up immediately, and was pushing him away from them.

“Nef, stop. I can’t.” Their voice had a new, unrecognizable hard edge to it. This hurt Nefarious’ heart, but he wanted to hear them out. “I can’t get involved with you, and you can’t get attached to me.”

“But…why?” He still held onto their shoulders, beginning to feel pathetic. His heart clutched itself, burning with a foreign pain. He wanted to crawl under a rock – he’d never expected rejection to sting so badly – but he was determined to try and understand Azzy’s reasons.

“I am _way_ too old for you, for starters,” they began. They would have said more, but Nefarious interrupted.

“What do you mean? You’re not fourteen? Or fifteen?” He waited for a response, and when he got none, just a sad look from the shifter, he pressed further. “How old _are_ you, Azzy?”

They looked up at the night sky, a melancholic smile touching their lips. “Older than all the stars in the sky. But even that doesn’t come close to telling my true age.” Thoroughly disturbed, Nefarious took a step back, finally letting go of them. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I refused to use the locker rooms or showers with the other students after gym?”

“I…I thought it’s because you just wanted your privacy.” He took another step back, beginning to wonder just how much they’d all been deceived. His heart ached even more, and that only made him angry. “So, why are you here?” He heard the venom in his voice, and it made him sick, but he also wanted answers. “Why did you lie to us for so long? Why did you make us all think you were one of us?” Azzy was about to respond, but Nefarious kept on. “Why the hell did you try so hard to fit in with us? Why gain our trust?”

“Sabotage.” Azzy said simply, clasping their hands behind their back. They had dropped whatever aura they’d conjured to fool everyone around them into thinking they were who they said they were. Their outward appearance hadn’t changed yet, but they looked older, more worn out, and filled with sorrow. Their back straightened, their shoulders squared, and they held the countenance of a hardened soldier. “I was sent to infiltrate, gather information, and shut this place down from the inside out.” They waved an arm, gesturing to the rest of the campus. “This place takes in children who have been thrown away, or whose parents decide it’s their destiny to be Evil, and abuses and indoctrinates them until they’re ready to be released to unleash havoc upon the innocents of the world. It was my mission to put a stop to it, and I’m unable to complete it. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”

“Wait, why?” Out of everything Azzy had just told him, he homed in on the part about failing their mission. “Why can’t you finish your mission?” His heartache was briefly replaced with pure confusion.

“Two reasons.” Azzy held up one finger. “First, there is no viable way to shut down the Academy without condemning most of the children to homelessness and inevitable death.” The second finger went up. “Second, I had to reveal myself to you. I can’t exactly pull off a successful sabotage if I’m discovered, now, can I?”

The heartache roared back to the surface, threatening to block out all rationality within him. “So, that’s it? You come along, earn our trust, make friends, and you’re going to throw it away, all because you fucked up? And what, it’s _my_ fault, now?” He was nearly shouting, unable to stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes. “We trusted you! We cared about you!” He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. He took one more step backwards and turned on his heel, falling off the edge of the building. A scream of terror erupted from his throat as he fell, not because of the certainty of death, but because of what followed him over the edge.

Azzy had transformed into a horrifying beast. They were huge, and their thin lips were set in a determined snarl over their needle-like teeth. They reached out with long arms of bone, held together at the joints by thick burgundy tendrils. A glowing golden Halo floated above their spine-crowned head, and powerful white wings jutted out of their back. They were curled in at the moment, but when Azzy caught him just before he hit the ground, they snapped outwards, sporting a wingspan of at least twenty feet, and the two of them glided safely over the earth. Flapping their wings a couple of times, Azzy held him close, putting more space between them and the ground, and flew off into the forest. They stopped in midair, gently lowering themselves down into a clearing.

Nefarious was shaking uncontrollably when they set him down. He’d forgotten his heartbreak and rage, and clung to them as though they were still in flight. Azzy guided him over to a fallen tree, helping him sit. He breathed heavily, clutching at his chest. His heart beat hard and fast, almost as if it were going to burst out of his chest. He looked at Azzy like a deer caught in headlights. Most of their face was covered by a solid, slate grey “mask,” but even without eyes, he could tell they were concerned for him. He looked them over, taking in their full majesty. Their hands were jointed directly to their wrists, their fingers each held in place by polished brass balls, and their fingertips floated freely. Pink ridges sat behind the crown of their “mask,” accented with the same kinds of bioluminescent markings that touched their neck, and ribs and shoulders of their rocky carapace of a torso. Their features were hidden from the waist down by a tattered and torn brown robe, held up by a brown leather belt with a silver buckle, and a green stone in the center.

“Wh-what…what are you…?” He leaned away from them, unsure of what to think of all the new developments that were happening so fast. “A-are you an Angel? A monster? A monster-Angel?!”

Azzy, grinned, showing off their terrifying teeth. “All of the above.” Their tongue flicked out briefly. It was long, blue, and tapered to a point. Their voice was a combination of two to seven dissonant tones. Before long, their smile faded, and they laid a hand gently on his shoulder. He jumped, but quickly relaxed. No matter what, he was sure he could trust them. They _did_ just save his life, after all. “I’m sorry I had to trick all of you. My orders were to blend in, to the best of my ability. And no, it’s not your fault that I failed my mission. I realized I wouldn’t be able to shut down the Academy about a month into my stay here. I was just going to ride out the full year and ‘go back to Prague,’ so as not to raise suspicion. And, if you’re wondering, I knew you liked me, but I didn’t think you’d actually _do_ something. You caught me completely off-guard.” They settled down on the tree next to him. “If it makes any difference, I really was, and still am, your friend.”

Nefarious sniffed, unaware until that moment that he was crying. Azzy carefully wiped his tears away, but couldn’t stop them all. “Will I ever see you again?” His voice came out as a choked whisper, and he hated how feeble he sounded. Teenage emotions were a whirlwind of confusion and contradiction, and he decided that, regardless of the circumstances, he still liked the shapeshifter. He hoped, perhaps a little foolishly, that a day would come when he was older, and they would give him a chance.

“Actually, yes.” Azzy smiled again. Nefarious looked at them hopefully, waiting for them to say when. “From my perspective, it won’t be long at all. But…for you…” They turned their great head away, frowning once more. “It’ll be so long; you may end up forgetting I exist.”

“I’ll wait for you.” Nefarious declared, grabbing one of their massive hands and squeezing hard. They looked his way, the surprise somehow evident in their features. “You’re one of my best friends, Azzy. I’ll _never_ forget you.” It was the closest he ever got to saying, “I love you,” and until they met again, it would have to do. Nefarious had a plethora of questions for them, but the strange creature would give no answers. Giving up on probing, Nefarious was content to sit with them in silence until well after midnight, gazing at the stars and the moon.

The next morning, Azzy was gone, and Nefarious locked himself in his room to cry it out. The others were sad, too, but only Nefarious took it so hard. The following day, he rounded up his supplies, and snuck out to his clock tower to begin his work. Determined to see Azzy again, he would stop at nothing to achieve time travel, and find them long before he ever had a chance to forget about them. In just a few short months, not long after his fifteenth birthday, he was granted his first success. Little did he know, it was going to corrupt him for millennia to come.


	8. A Fresh Start

Simon awoke with a start, just as his younger self in his dream-memory emerged from the other end of a portal. His sudden movements woke the Angel next to him. They glanced at him through half-lidded, sleep-filled eyes. “Azzy!” He exclaimed, startling them. He knew there was a reason he recognized the beastly creature, drenched in the blood of others, who had returned to chat and laugh with Uriel. It was the same form Azzy had taken when they saved him from falling to his death. “My god, Azzy, it’s really you!” He yanked them into an embrace, burying his face in the crook of their neck. Without warning, he began to sob, his heart squeezing itself painfully. Azraphael, now fully awake, held him tight, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Yes, my dear, old friend,” they sighed, sniffing. “I’ve returned, just as I said I would. I’m sorry it took so long.” Like so many times before, they ran their fingers through his hair, and rubbed his back.

“I searched for you!” Simon nearly shouted, holding them tighter. “I spent decades, a _century_ , just trying to find the right time in which we would meet again!” He pulled back just enough to look them in the eyes. They were crying, too. “I-I gave up. I thought you’d lied to me, just to make me feel better. But…here you are!” All of his old emotions came back in a violent rush, reminding him why he’d spent so long searching, and why he was so broken when he’d decided to quit. Without thinking about it, he took Azraphael by the back of the head and pulled them in, kissing them hard. They let out a small, surprised moan, then a low sigh, leaning into it. There it was again – the taste of honey, and now what he recognized as juniper berries. Simon broke the kiss to breathe, then planted three more on their lips. “I’ve loved you for so long, Azraphael. I _knew_ it was love, even when I was just a naïve teenager.” Another kiss, softer this time. If they didn’t stop him, he wasn’t certain he would be able to stop himself. “I _still_ love you.”

“Simon,” Azraphael breathed, leaning back to see his face. Theirs was flushed a deep crimson, and their eyes were glazed over. “I…” He saw the conflicted look flash across their features, heard it in their voice, and was reminded of Sahl’resh, their lover.

“Shit, Azzy, I’m sorry.” He pulled away, letting go of them completely. “I-I forgot. You’re spoken for.” Before he could turn away to hide his shame, and feel the heartbreak all over again, the Angel grabbed his chin and kissed him roughly. When they broke away, he looked at them incredulously.

“I have many Loves, Doctor.” They purred, biting their lip as they gazed at him, not at all bothering to conceal the fire dancing behind their eyes. Without realizing it, they had revealed one of their weaknesses to him. “I learned how to Love multiple people eons upon eons ago.” They leaned in, brushing their lips against his in a teasing gesture. He shivered, longing to know what was going through their mind. “So don’t you worry about that, okay?” They gave his lips a quick peck, then pulled away again, regaining control over their expression. “What I need you to understand, however, is that I’m forbidden to get romantically involved with my charges. Well…at least until it’s been determined that they’re saved, that is. Then, I’m free to express my…affections.” They lifted a finger, commanding him to pause as though they knew he was going to speak – and they were right. “Another thing: I cannot be the reason you choose to seek Redemption.”

“You’re not,” Simon blurted out. Although he wouldn’t deny his feelings, he had made up his mind before this revelation. “I want to make things right, Azraphael. I won’t lie, I’m afraid of what will happen if I fail. And…” He paused, giving the Angel the most genuine, vulnerable look he could muster. “Everything that’s happened, from the day I was almost killed, to this very moment, has made me realize that if even _one_ person believes I can change for the better, then maybe Fate is bullshit, and I don’t _have_ to be Evil, like I thought I did.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “When I think back on it all, I realize I was wrong to ever believe it’s what I wanted. I didn’t choose Evil as a child; it was thrust upon me. I didn’t know anything _but_ Evil by the time I left the Academy, and although my choices were strictly my own, I know my life would have been much different had I not wound up on Madame Amberley’s doorstep.” He took Azraphael’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze; they returned the gesture. “I can make that choice, now. I want to be better.”

“Before we go,” Azraphael said cautiously, “do you really feel this way?”

“I do.” The conviction in his voice was clear. “I believe you when you say it’s going to be made difficult for me. But I want this. I won’t turn back. Not now, not ever.”

“Good.” The Angel smiled, and gave him one last soft, sweet kiss before getting up. “I _do_ believe in you, Simon. But now it’s time to begin testing your resolve. We’re leaving for Neo’s castle immediately after breakfast.” They paused, seeming to consider their next words carefully. A few tense moments passed in silence before they sighed, dropping their shoulders. “And…I Love you, too, Simon. But that’s a conversation for another time.” The Doctor’s heart leapt, and a warm sensation flooded his whole body from the chest outward. He decided it would be worth the wait to hear what Azraphael had to say about their bold declaration. After all, after five thousand years, what was a little longer to him? The answer was, “not much.”

Traveling through Azraphael’s portal left Simon dizzy and nauseated, but it passed quickly. He gazed up at the castle looming before them, taking in the thick, hot tropical air. He’d never liked how humid the Wumpa Islands were. The Angel rested a hand on his shoulder, giving him a single nod as if to say, “go ahead.” Tentatively, he reached forward, and rang the doorbell. Neo was always a cheesy person and he knew it, although he’d never admit it. The doorbell tone was the opening sequence of “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor.” Much to his surprise, it was Dr. N. Brio who opened the door to greet them. The strange little man’s jaw dropped when he saw what had become of the infamous Dr. N. Tropy.

“D-D-Dr. N. Tropy?” He stuttered, scrutinizing him. The look on his face said it all – he could hardly believe that _this_ was the same man who had wreaked havoc by his side for so long, and eventually walked away from his team, his friends. Simon nodded, gripping the arms of his wheelchair tightly. “Dr. Cortex will want to see you. Come in.” He almost turned to lead them inside, but stopped himself, taking a moment to examine Azraphael. “Err…and your friend, too, I guess.” He shut the door behind them, and began guiding them down the main hall. “I should warn you, though, Dr. Cortex won’t b-b-be happy to see you.”

“I know, Nitrus.” Dr. N. Brio stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face Simon. His expression was torn between shock, confusion, anger, and sadness.

“You haven’t c-c-called me that since we left the Academy.” He sighed, shaking his head. There was clearly more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. Swiveling back around, he continued taking the two deeper into the castle. It wasn’t long before shouting could be heard. The first voice was unmistakable – it was Neo, petulantly arguing against something he wanted no part in. The other, equal parts unmistakable and terrifying, was Uka Uka. A chill rocketed down Simon’s spine, and in that instant, he wanted to turn back. Running wasn’t an option, but as long as the evil witch doctor mask didn’t know he was there, he was still safe. Azraphael must have sensed his distress. They laid their hand on his shoulder again, giving it a gentle squeeze. He breathed sharply, and pushed forward. There was no way he’d back out so easily.

Upon entering a large chamber, lined with computer screens, control panels and with various gizmos suspended from the ceiling, the trio found Uka Uka and Dr. Neo Cortex in the middle of a screaming match. Dr. N. Gin was huddled into a far corner with his face in a book, apparently pretending not to hear them. The room was an utter mess: broken beakers and spilled chemicals littered the floor, black burns and tiny craters marred the walls, and at least four monitors were destroyed. Dr. N. Brio cleared his throat, abruptly stopping the argument between the mask and the yellow man. They turned their attention towards the source of the interruption, and Simon never wished so badly that he could run away. Uka Uka looked downright murderous when his gaze settled on the man who abandoned him outside of Time, and he couldn’t exactly blame him. Dr. Cortex froze. A wide range of emotions passed over his face in just a few seconds. The first was rage, which then gave way to shock and disbelief, then evolved into smug triumph.

“Well, well, well,” Dr. Cortex began, stroking his beard. “I never thought I’d see you again, N. Tropy. And it looks like you’ve seen a bit of trouble since Dingodile tossed your sorry rear through that portal.” A sudden flash of blind rage shot through Simon; he gripped the arms of his wheelchair and gritted his teeth, but remained silent. “I admit, it’s hard to believe that _you_ of all people would be reduced to such a pathetic state. But I also admit that it brings me great joy.” He strutted forward; his chest puffed out in a clear show of arrogant dominance. His gaze shifted to Azraphael, who simply stood with their hand on Simon’s shoulder. “And who’s your lovely companion?” He waggled his eyebrows at them, giving them as charming of a grin as he could manage. A jealous anger surged through Simon’s heart, then his brain; it took all of his focus to not react to it like a fool. Luckily for him, Azraphael answered.

“What? You don’t recognize an old friend?” They gave Simon’s shoulder a quick squeeze, then stepped away. In a brief – and admittedly _horrifying_ – moment, they went through a grotesque transformation that resulted in them looking just as they had when they infiltrated the Academy of Evil. All at once, Neo, Nitrus, and Nolan gasped in alarm, and shouted, “ _AZZY!!_ ” In less than an instant, they had tackled the shapeshifting Angel onto the floor, and were hugging them fiercely. They did their best to wrap their arms around all three of them, and were laughing heartily. A tear or two slid from their eyes, and in that moment, Simon realized they really had been a friend to the N-Team, and had missed them dearly. A warmth and a slight touch of pain softened his heart, and he smiled. He had to look away when Azraphael shifted back to their previous form, but the impression remained.

“We thought you were gone for good!” Nolan exclaimed, clapping excitedly.

“We missed you!” Nitrus wiped his own tear away, his lower lip trembling.

“Where have you _been_ , Azzy?” Neo whined, his hand over his heart.

“Oh, you know…around.” They grinned, but not without a hint of sadness in their eyes. “I missed you, too.”

“ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE!!” Uka Uka shouted, giving each of the scientists – including Simon – a scare that made them all jump in terror. The mask floated around aimlessly, glaring at each of them, then stopped in front of Simon. “You… _YOU!!!_ ” He growled, his voice getting deeper. “You left me behind as a prisoner of Time!”

“I did.” There was no reason to hesitate anymore. He was caught directly in the line of fire, staring down one of the most dangerous beings he’d ever met. He felt the pure hatred resonating from the mask, but did his best to straighten his posture. “I’m sorry, Uka Uka. I took you for granted, when I should have shown you at least a little gratitude by taking you out of that place.” Uka Uka was utterly stunned, as were the other three. Azraphael merely snuck him an approving smile and nod. “Neo, Nitrus, Nolan…I’m sorry to you, too.” He swiveled his wheelchair to face the three scientists directly. “I came back to apologize.”

Simon spent a good two hours recapping everything he had gone through since he last saw Dr. Cortex. It surprised him to discover that talking about his fight to the death with Lady N. Tropy was actually quite easy. He couldn’t deny that he was still hurt over her sudden betrayal – after all, despite his Love for Azraphael, he’d loved his counterpart, too. He suspected that at least some of Azraphael’s reservations came from knowing that, however, he couldn’t stop thinking about how they’d kissed him earlier that day, and how they’d confessed their own Love for him. Once more, he resolved to be patient with them, and allow any potential chemistry between them to blossom on its own. In his discussion with the N-Team and Uka Uka, he noticed that he was more than willing to speak of his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and concluded that it was a sign that Azraphael was having a positive impact on him. He _did_ opt to leave out any details of his strange relationship with the Angel, though. He didn’t think that his old team, or their “leader,” needed to know about that.

“Typical,” Uka Uka said with a menacing smirk. “The only one you could love, or who could love you, is yourself. You always were a smug, narcissistic buffoon.” He laughed, getting uncomfortably close to the former Dr. N. Tropy’s face. His words stung, filling Simon’s chest with a sharp ache, and it was clear that he could see it. “And what did you expect? You can’t hide from what you are. I’m feeling generous. I’ll forgive you, on the condition that you give up this ridiculous quest, and serve me for the rest of your life.”

“That isn’t going to happen, Uka Uka.” The words escaped Simon before he had a chance to think it through. He didn’t _want_ to think about it. The mask jerked back, clearly stunned. “I’ve committed myself to something. And on that note, I didn’t come seeking forgiveness. I came to apologize, that’s it.”

Uka Uka growled menacingly, baring his teeth. “Only a fool would _dare_ reject an offer from _me,_ the Mighty Uka Uka!” A dark purple light emanated from his scant frame, indicating his rage. His eyes glowed brighter than normal, suggesting he was going to attack. Simon squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. When nothing happened, he dared a peek. Azraphael had grabbed the witch doctor tightly, yet somehow still in a nonchalant manner.

“Chill, driftwood.” Their own voice came out as a distorted growl. Their teeth were beginning to turn sharp. The energy radiating from Uka Uka quickly dissolved into the Angel’s hand. The mask looked utterly horrified by this turn of events. “I should destroy you right now, just for what you represent.” They turned him around in their grip, now holding him with both hands, and glared at him with vacant eye sockets and a needle-toothed grin. The witch doctor screamed, unable to escape. “I’m no murderer, though. I mean…not anymore. Not in a _long_ time. So leave, and think it through carefully before you threaten or attack those I care about.” When they released Uka Uka, he sailed out of an open window without another word. Those remaining glanced at one another, then smiled. To Simon, it seemed as though, eventually, he would be able to repair his broken friendships.


	9. Memory Lane

After Uka Uka’s retreat, the scientists were able to lower their guards around one another. Conversation quickly devolved into stories and reminiscing about their days at the Academy of Evil. Nitrus busted out a vintage bottle of wine, while Nolan snagged a bottle of whisky from his private stash. Neo offered up some champagne, and Azraphael summoned a couple bottles of top shelf tequila from their own reserves. The gang was finally back together. One glass, shot, or double at a time – Azraphael’s “doubles” were actually triples – each of them told stories of their own wacky, dangerous, and downright unbelievable adventures. For the first time in Castle Cortex’s history, carefree laughter echoed through its vast, cold, empty halls.

“Nolan,” Azraphael snorted, taking a shot of whisky. They knocked it down swiftly, struggling to keep from choking on it. “Do you remember that time you planted a tack on Madame Amberley’s chair?”

“How could I forget?!” Nolan giggled, slapping a hand over his good eye. “And she _actually_ believed it was Edward!”

“He g-g-got detention for three weeks for that one!” Nitrus leaned back in his chair, his head thrown backwards, laughing uncontrollably. “Or what about the t-t-time Neo spiked the punch at the dance?!” Everyone burst out in a chorus of howling laughter, holding their stomachs. “ _He made so many people sick that night!!_ ”

“I _told_ you I didn’t know what I was doing!!!” Neo cackled, having to set his glass of wine away from him before he spilled it. “Or how about that time Nef- err, Simon,” he had to correct himself, attempting to respect the former Dr. N. Tropy’s wishes to be known by his real given name. “That time Simon nearly gassed the home economics class to death when one of his experiments failed?”

Simon groaned, covering his eyes, and laughed along with the rest of them. “I had no idea at the time that ammonia wasn’t good to mix with bleach.”

“Wasn’t that the time we had to create our own ‘cleaning solutions?’” Azraphael sipped at their “double” tequila. The others nodded. “Oh, man…I remember there were a lot of fucked up combinations that week that almost killed everyone.” They chuckled, shaking their head. “Who in their right mind would trust teenagers with chemicals like that, and _not_ teach them the right ways to use them?”

“If it’s any consolation, I learned how to use bleach properly.” Simon raised his glass, smirking at the rest of them. They all laughed at this, much to his relief. He’d been so afraid of trying to reconcile with his old friends. He never imagined it would go over well, and was pleasantly surprised. Of course, he had to admit, he thought it had a lot to do with the fact that Azraphael was there to smooth things over. He knew he would have to speak to them later, and thank them for their apparent intervention. Whether it was because of them or not, he was grateful for their presence. It made everything easier for him to handle.

“So, Azzy,” Neo said calmly after taking a sip of his wine. He was thoroughly inebriated, but was still able to speak rationally. “You’re clearly _not_ what we thought you were, shapeshifter or not. Why did you come to the Academy?” Everyone but Simon leaned forward, waiting eagerly for their answer.

Azraphael cast their gaze between each member of the N-Team, locking eyes with all of them, but giving Simon the most time. “It’s a long story,” they finally said, setting their alcohol off to the side, and folding their hands in their lap. They explained their mission to shut down the Academy of Evil, and how they realized that it wasn’t possible under the circumstances at the time. Nolan asked if it was possible now, and they shook their head sadly, explaining that nothing had changed since they had last been involved in their Universe. They told the group of their initial decision to stick around for the full year, but much to Simon’s relief, left out exactly why they had chosen to leave early. Instead, they offered a half-assed excuse, saying that they were needed elsewhere, and the mission was indefinitely put on hold.

A look of dismay was passed along the remainder of the N-Team, stopping at Simon. He locked eyes with each of his old friends in turn, unsure of what to say to them. When he decided he didn’t have an idea of what to say, he dipped into his wine, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to shut out the world around him.

“So, you save Souls, huh?” It was Nolan who spoke. Simon glanced up at him from his wine glass, curious about where this would go. He saw Azraphael nod out of the corner of his eye. “What’s that like? It can’t be easy.”

“It’s not.” At this, Azraphael retrieved their tequila, knocking back the rest of it in one big gulp. They refilled their glass before continuing. “It’s a massive responsibility, and there’s absolutely no guarantee any mission will be a success.” They looked at Simon, raised their glass to him, and took a big swallow before saying anything more. “But it’s why I’m here. I turned away from Evil long ago, and now I fight to keep others from its grasp.”

“How long is ‘long ago?’” Nitrus wondered, sampling his champagne.

“Ugh, are we talking linear, or relative Time?” Azraphael waited, but when the scientists just looked at one another and shrugged, they continued. “If it’s linear, I’d say about eighteen billion years ago.” All drinking stopped, and everyone gawked at them. “If it’s relative…hmm…I bounce around timelines so much, I really don’t know.”

“Isn’t the Universe only _fourteen_ billion years old?” Simon countered. He was absolutely fascinated, as were the others. In all his years exploring Time, not once did he uncover any evidence regarding the true age of the Universe.

“No. The pocket that’s _observable_ to this world is. But the Universe as a whole stretches back to about twenty-two trillion years.” Stunned silence followed this revelation. The Angel took another slug of their tequila. “Think of it like this. The Universe is infinitely massive, and sprawls in infinite directions. As you know, there are clusters of galaxies, and superclusters made up of said clusters. And these superclusters lump together to form what I call ‘pockets,’ being the observable space from any point within a mass of superclusters. However, as you also know, space is mostly an empty Void, which means these pockets are extremely distant from one another. As of right now, there is no technology that’s been developed inside your pocket that’s capable of detecting anything outside of it.” From the Angel’s expression, it was clear that they enjoyed being able to discuss such matters with people who could at least somewhat understand it.

“Azzy?” Nolan spoke up, his voice cautious. Everyone looked at the little cyborg, but only Azraphael met his eyes. “How old _are_ you?” The scientists all leaned forward, waiting anxiously for the answer. Simon tried, but even with the numbing effect of the alcohol, it was still too painful.

“Old enough that I’m honestly shocked that I haven’t spontaneously turned to dust.” They smiled warmly, this time only sipping at their drink instead of taking a large swallow. Simon remembered something they had once told him.

“Older than all the stars in the sky,” he began quietly, looking at them with admiration, if not a little Fear. “And even that doesn’t come close to telling your true age. Right?” They beamed at him, sending a flutter through his heart. God, how he loved that smile – it was as though they reserved it specifically for him, as though they knew _exactly_ what it made him feel.

“You remembered.” They reached out, touching their glass to his. It was a little gesture, but when combined with that smile, it spoke volumes. They didn’t have to tell him for him to know that they appreciated him.

“You speak poetry.” He sipped his wine, locking eyes with the strange shapeshifter, then offered them his most flirtatious grin. “You _are_ poetry.” Azraphael blushed, averting their gaze with a sheepish grin before giving their attention back to their glass.

“You two are cute,” Neo interjected, making Simon flush a deep purple. “But you should get a room.” He stuck his tongue out at the flustered scientist. Simon shot him a venomous glare. “Oh, come on! I’m only teasing you, just like old times!”

“You really didn’t make it easy for me back then,” Simon groaned, rubbing his temple. “I suppose it was only natural. We _were_ just dumb teenagers.”

“Dumb, but too smart for our own good!” Nolan chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He sighed contentedly, obviously glad to be spending time with his old friends, _as_ friends. “Say, Nitrus…do you remember that one biology class we had, when you somehow turned a tulip into a giant, carnivorous monster?”

“Of course!” Nitrus laughed, holding his head. “I d-d-did it on purpose!” He gave Azraphael an apologetic look. “This was after you left. Our t-teacher, Dr. Sprout – yes, really – wanted us to c-c-c-collect samples from various plants, and engineer a brand new species. F-failing that project meant failing the class, and having to take it again the next year. So I made a monster, and it ate him.” He paused for a drink. “D-don’t worry, he survived. My creation didn’t have any digestive functions, and he was able to c-claw his way out after three days.”

“It also spread its roots through an entire wing of the school, and shut down all classes for a week.” Simon smirked. He would be the first to admit that he missed the chaos of the Academy. “ _And_ Dr. Sprout resigned. Nobody really liked him, anyway.”

“And we all passed by default!” Nolan cackled, kicking his feet like an excited toddler who had just gotten away with doing something bad.

“Damn. I’m actually sorry I missed that one!” Azraphael laughed, shaking their head. “It’s really good to see you guys again.”

“You too, Azzy. But…that leads me to a question I think we all need to have answered.” Neo straightened himself, resting his head against the back of his chair. Azraphael waited. Neo was well past the point of intoxication, and needed a moment to pull his words together. When he finally spoke, there was a distinct sadness in his voice. “We’re Evil…and you’re Good. _Super_ Good. Can you really be friends with us?”

“Absolutely.” Zero hesitation. The men breathed a sigh of relief; a smile made its way around the room, lighting up each of their faces. Then, Azraphael held up a finger, and breaths were heard hitching in throats. “But I must warn you now, while I’m around, I am obligated to put a stop to any Evil shit you try to pull. Plus…” They leaned forward, elbows on their knees, lacing their fingers under their chin. “I have a proposition for the three of you.”

“Okay?” Neo nodded at them. “Lay it on us.”

“I can keep that glorified piece of driftwood away from you for good, but only as long as you follow Simon’s lead, and give up Evil.” A stunned silence swept across the room once more. Azraphael waited for a few long moments, and when nobody spoke up, they continued. “I’ve already talked it over with my superiors. They’re on-board with the idea. More reformed Souls are _always_ good.” Simon stared them down in utter disbelief. He had so many questions bubbling up in his mind, but when he tried to ask one, nothing came out. It didn’t surprise him that Azraphael was willing to try and turn all of them towards the Light, but they’d expressed how saving Souls was such a huge task, he wasn’t sure if they could manage all four miscreants at once.

“W-w-well, that s-sounds like quite a challenge, doesn’t it?” Nitrus broke the silence, his voice hesitant. “I mean…we’ve been like this f-f-for so long…”

“Yeah, Azzy,” Nolan agreed, scratching the back of his head, and looking down. “The offer is most generous, and most appreciated, but…” He fell silent, unable to say anything more, perhaps out of fear of disappointing his old friend.

“What makes you think you can pull off something like that?” Neo finished Nolan’s thought. “We’re _all_ world-renowned evildoers.” He locked eyes with Simon, his expression unreadable. “And so are you.” Simon knew what that meant; he knew that Neo doubted the former Dr. N. Tropy’s ability to change, because talk was cheap and plentiful.

“Azraphael believes in me,” Simon countered, straightening his posture as best he could. It hurt tremendously, but he had a point to make. “If they don’t consider me to be a lost cause, after everything I’ve done, then I’d say you three have an even better chance than I do.” He saw a little bit of hope dawning in each of his friends’ faces, and a look of appreciation on the Angel’s. He decided he was going to make the most of this, while he had everyone on the same page as him. “Aren’t you tired of being pushed around by Uka Uka? Aren’t you sick of failure after failure, and feeling like you’ll never accomplish anything? Azraphael is living proof that Evil doesn’t _have_ to be the choice we make.” He looked to each of his friends in turn, his arms shaking as he struggled to keep himself sitting up straight. His back was starting to make him want to scream. Azraphael must have sensed this, for they placed a hand on him, and sucked out the majority of his pain. He gave them a grateful smile before speaking again.

“Neo, with your knowledge and expertise in biology and mutagens, you could be one of the world’s leading medical scientists. You could revolutionize the way we study and cure diseases, even those that have eluded us for centuries.” Neo appeared struck with sudden inspiration, and Simon could practically see the gears turning in his head. The yellow man smiled at this, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Simon gave his attention to Dr. N. Gin next. “Nolan, you’re a brilliant rocket scientist, and nuclear physicist. You could take this world into the next era by contributing to the colonization of other planets. Not to mention, you could be the one to crack the secret of nuclear fusion, and bring clean, sustainable energy to the entire world.” Nolan perked up in an instant, then began laughing, muttering under his breath about how he could get started.

At last, Simon looked to Nitrus, who appeared as though he was considering what he could contribute, and coming up distressingly short. “Nitrus, you have a talent for combining science and sorcery. I’ve never understood it, but it’s always fascinated me. You could be one of those rare individuals who uncover the lost histories of this world and others, and revive ancient technologies that relied on your unique combination of expertise to function.” He watched the doubt disappear from Nitrus’ face, and be replaced with a wide grin. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to do it, but Simon had touched on something in each of his old friends. Just like Azraphael had done for him, he’d given them hope; it was something they’d all been lacking for a long, long time.


	10. The First Nightmare

Reunited at last, the N-Team and their unusual friend stayed up late into the night, reminiscing of days gone by, and dreaming of the future. When Simon’s back was too painful to bear, the group migrated to his old room, and carried on their revelry as he laid in his bed. He propped himself up just enough to continue drinking with them, but quickly found himself being overtaken by sleep. Not once had it crossed his mind that Azraphael’s warning would be relevant so soon, or so suddenly. As soon as he’d descended into sleep, the horrors began revealing themselves.

**

Darkness. Heat. Falling. An acrid stench of sulfur, decay, iron, and Death. Sounds on all sides – tortured screams begging for the Mercy that would never come, deep sadistic laughter, grinding metal, bones snapping like twigs – it was too much! Simon opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a choked gurgle. His breath, thick and hot as the air cooking his flesh, lodged itself like a bubble of tar in his throat. He flailed his arms blindly, desperately hoping to find something, anything, to grab onto to stop his descent. All that got him was something impaling his hand, and ripping it open to the right, snapping each of the bones with a distinct, sharp _CRACK_. This time, the bubble burst, and his scream echoed all around him. The laughter came closer, and a burning, massive, clawed hand seized his shoulder. It failed to stop his fall, but tore through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. Again he shrieked, unable to help himself.

Suddenly, he landed with a hard _THUD_ on a rocky surface. He bounced twice, rolled, and was impaled yet again, this time by a sharp stone. It ripped into his torso, just barely missing his lung, but definitely rupturing _something_. Another scream, followed by another, and another, and another. His sheer agony in that moment was unlike anything he’d ever faced before. He turned his face down to the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut. His breathing was heavy and ragged, the air stinging his throat, mouth, and nose. Digging his fingers into the practically molten earth, he pulled, yanking himself free of the stone. Then, his fingers brushed against something – it was a shoe, all leather and metal, with thick, rough laces. Simon forced himself to look up, not expecting to be able to see anything, and was surprised to find his surroundings illuminated by a ghastly red light.

“Welcome home, churl.” The creature standing above him smiled, showing off its discolored, misshapen, rotting teeth and sickly black gums. It reached down with one hand, and took him by the neck, hoisting him up like he weighed nothing at all. It grunted a disgusting laugh, and squeezed. Simon clawed at its hand, pulling in vain on its thick, calloused fingers. It laughed again, spraying his face with noxious saliva. Its beady black eyes were set so deep into its murky red face, it was almost like it didn’t have eyes at all. Its black, spiraling horns were curved down, dangerously close to piercing his eyes. At last, however, in what Simon would consider a most merciful moment, he lost consciousness.

When he awoke, he was on a cool, obsidian floor. His vision faded in and out at first, then blurred, and finally cleared up. For the briefest instant, he was overwhelmed with relief. All his pain was gone, and his wounds were fully healed. Then, the relief turned to sudden horror when he saw the _thing_ that had strangled him. He scrambled to his feet and backed away, but was met with a wall. The monster laughed, setting its lips in a vicious snarl. He was certain that the creature had brought him back and healed him, just for the satisfaction of tormenting him again.

“Enough, Erryll.” Suddenly, a new figure entered the space between Simon and the monster. He was tall, lean, and porcelain skinned. His fair, straight blond hair hung freely down to his lower back. The edges of his face were sharp and distinguished, all cheekbones and a strong nose and jaw. His shimmering ruby eyes, although striking and beautiful, hardly concealed the rage and hatred he kept locked up inside. He sported a flowing white robe with gold trim, and many jeweled rings of the finest craftsmanship. He nodded to the creature he called “Erryll,” and it shuffled off out of sight, slamming a massive black door behind it.

Simon took a tentative step forward, finally taking in his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a castle’s court chamber. Seven monolithic statues lined the perimeter of the room, each depicting what must have been one of the Seven Deadly Sins. Banners – or perhaps they were tapestries – hung in between each statue, all seeming to tell some kind of story. A long, ebony table stretched across the length of the far wall, decorated with a blood red cloth, and several silver candlesticks. Bowls of fresh, ripe apples sat at various intervals. He counted at least twenty seats at the table, but only one that could have been classified as a throne, stationed at the very center. The seat to its right, however, was only slightly smaller, and slightly less elegant.

“I see you are admiring my home, my breathtaking Pandaemonium.” The beautiful stranger smiled at Simon, grabbing his attention once more. He was suddenly closer, now only a mere six feet away from the trembling human. He flashed his teeth in a charming grin, chuckling a little when Simon took a step backwards, right back into the wall. “Fear not, my prodigy. No harm shall befall you in my presence.”

“Wh-who are you?” Simon gulped. Every last one of his baser instincts was screaming at him to run, no matter what might happen to him, just _run_.

“Why, most call me ‘Satan,’ which is what I prefer.” The stranger’s smile widened, showing off a set of pointed fangs. His voice was low and sweet, enough to disarm practically anyone, and make them lower their guard. “I remember a time when I was called ‘Lucifer’ by the mortal rabble. But you, my prodigy…you, and _only you_ , may call me ‘Icarus.’” He steepled his fingers, then laced them together, his alluring smile never faltering once. “I know you have so many questions. That’s something I’ve always admired about you; your hunger and search for knowledge knows no bounds. However, I must ask that you hold off for a little bit, for there is much that I must tell you before you awaken.”

“I-I’m not dead?” Instant relief washed over Simon. He’d been so certain that something had killed him, and Azraphael could no longer help.

“Of course not!” Satan chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. “You are dreaming, but make no mistake, you _are_ in Hell right now.” Just like that, the sense of relief was gone, and a cold panic flooded Simon once more. “You must be extremely cautious and vigilant while visiting my realm. There are beings here who specialize in stealing the Souls of sleeping Wanderers. But as I said, you have nothing to fear when you are with me.”

“O-okay?” Simon gulped, attempting to choose his next words wisely. “Why am I here? I thought…” He trailed off, unable to stop himself from keeping constant eye contact with the King of Demons. Those glittering rubies were mesmerizing, almost intoxicating. He swore he felt icy fingers closing around his brain. Then, he remembered what Azraphael had said about the forces of Darkness running interference. If he couldn’t look away, he resolved to shut his eyes. Just like that, the fingers were gone, but the coldness remained.

“That is _precisely_ what we must discuss.” Satan snapped his fingers. The room warped and twisted, and the two were suddenly in front of the great, long table. The Devil plucked an apple from a bowl, examined it, and smiled. “I have summoned you because, unlike your Angel friend, I have no restrictions as far as the information I can pass along to you.” He tossed the apple gently, and Simon caught it. “I’m more than happy to answer any questions you may have, but first, I must tell you of the creature known as ‘Azraphael.’”

“They already told me they used to be Evil.” Simon set the apple down on the table, wanting to be rid of it, afraid of what may happen if he took a bite. Sure enough, as soon as he was no longer touching the accursed fruit, he felt his resolve strengthen. A brief look of disappointment flashed across Satan’s face, but he hid it quickly.

“That much is true. But did they ever bother to tell you _how_ Evil they were?” His expression was suddenly clouded; there was a cold, hard glint in his eyes that hinted at a seething fury. Simon unconsciously took a step away from him. “Did they ever tell you that they used to serve _me_? Or that they betrayed me not once, but _twice_?” He raised a hand, summoning a shimmering orb. Peering into it, Simon could see a monster with skin as black as pitch, massive horns, four arms, and six blazing red eyes. It looked sort of like a pharaoh, decorated with a vast amount of golden jewelry that glimmered under an unforgiving desert sun. The only way Simon could tell that it really _was_ Azraphael he was seeing, was that the creature had that same disturbing, needle-toothed grin. “Behold, my prodigy – your beloved ‘Angel.’”

The creature moved, shifting from scene to horrifying scene of brutal torture, rape, murder, and eating victims alive. Each visual was more grotesque and sickening than the last. The Azraphael in the orb was nothing like the kind, benevolent Angel that had saved his life. They were the true definition of a monster. This monster cracked barbed whips across the backs of the weak and cowering. They chained up the young and old alike, commanding them to suffer the heavy burdens of whatever they were being forced to carry across the desert sands. They cackled with demented glee as their claws shredded through brittle, starved torsos, pulling out innards to be consumed. Simon looked away and screwed his eyes shut, no longer able to take it. He didn’t want to believe it, but somehow, he _knew_ it was true.

“Enslaving entire solar systems to pretend they were a God,” Satan began, his voice heavy with contempt. Simon finally returned his gaze to him, knowing he must have looked like a hurt puppy. “Satisfying their base instincts and desires, demanding monuments constructed in their honor, terrorizing billions upon billions of innocents, and bypassing natural evolution by consuming Souls. Long before they came into my service, they were once called ‘Azaroth the Cruel,’ and _this_ is why.” He clenched his fist, making the horrible orb vanish. “I do not show you these things to torment you, my prodigy, but to show you exactly who you’re dealing with. Azraphael is _not_ a being to be trifled with.” He paused, allowing his features to soften. “They are still extremely dangerous, and you must be cautious.”

“They’ve been nothing but kind to me!” Simon shouted, balling up his fists. He wanted to lash out, to strike the King of Demons, but was held back by a slim thread of awareness, telling him it would end terribly. He wanted to reject the knowledge, to accuse Satan of spreading lies to turn him against Azraphael, even though in his heart, he knew that what he’d witnessed was the truth.

“I feel your pain.” Satan touched a hand to his heart, offering Simon a melancholy grin. “And you’re right – they have shown you true kindness. But they’ve also hidden their real nature from you. They may be an Angel, but they’re _no Angel_. They are going to _make you suffer_.”

“ _STOP IT!!!_ ” Before he could stop himself, he was up in the Devil’s face, screaming at him in defiance. “ _LEAVE ME ALONE!!!_ ”

Satan sighed at this, shaking his head slowly. “I’m afraid you must see it for yourself, then, my prodigy. It won’t take long. We will speak again soon enough.”

“ _NO!!_ ” Without thinking, Simon picked up the apple and hurled it at Satan’s face. He dodged it quickly, nonchalantly, not once taking his gaze off Simon’s eyes. His expression remained calm. “I do _not_ wish to speak with you again! Leave me be!!”

“Then I shall await your invitation.” The Devil nodded solemnly. “For now, you must return to the waking world. All I ask is that you don’t forget what has happened here this day.” He snapped his fingers, and before Simon had a chance to protest further, he found himself being hurtled unceremoniously back into his body.

**

Simon awoke with a violent start, screaming in sheer terror as he sat up abruptly, and fell off the bed. His fearful cries turned into those of agony as he hit the floor. Azraphael was at his side in an instant, trying to get him back onto the mattress. He saw their face, and it wasn’t the face of the young woman, or even the strange creature that had saved him from falling. It was the Black Pharaoh, Azaroth the Cruel. He let out a piercing shriek, shoving them away from him as hard as he could. He collapsed back onto the cold stone floor, and once again, the pain overtook him. He writhed and shivered, batting away Azraphael’s hands when they tried to reach out to him.

“Simon! _Simon!!_ ” Eventually, they were able to grab hold of his shoulders. He stared up at them wide-eyed, ready to launch his fist at the Evil Pharaoh. But when he finally allowed himself to really look at them, they appeared once more as the young woman with emerald eyes and jet black hair. He stilled instantly, and began to sob uncontrollably. The Angel scooped him up gently, and put him back into bed. Laying their hands on his stomach and chest, they sucked the pain out of him, tensing their muscles and gritting their teeth as it left his body to enter theirs. After a moment, he calmed enough to be able to speak to them.

“ _What_ are _you?!_ ” His words came out in a choked sob. He snatched their wrists, holding them tight. He wanted – no, _needed_ – answers, and he refused to rest until he got the truth from them. “The fucking _DEVIL_ came to me!” Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. He saw his friends standing in the doorway, obviously roused from sleep by the commotion, but he didn’t care if he had an audience. Azraphael’s eyes showed him the guilt and shame they’d carried for eons, but when they said nothing, he continued. “ _Answer me! Answer me, Azraphael!!_ _WHAT ARE YOU?!_ ”

“I,” they began, their voice even. “I am an Angel, who was once worse than all the scourges of Hell. I am a creature spawned of Cataclysm and Hate, who spent a trillion years indulging like a Glutton in the suffering of others.” He let go of their wrists, then, searching for a reply. When he came up short, they held his face gently, but their gaze was piercing, allowing him to see the monster they once were. “I am a person who was able to recognize their Evil, who was given a chance by someone who believed in them like I believe in you, and who chose the Light.” They wiped away his tears with their thumbs, ignoring their own. Their voice softened, reminding him of the kindness they’d shown him from the start. “I’m someone who is _constantly_ repenting for their sins. I accept my Fate, for it’s what _I_ chose, no one else.”


	11. The Devil's Gift

Simon threw his arms around Azraphael’s waist, holding on as though letting go would kill him. He buried his face in their shoulder, suddenly aware of how badly he was shaking. Every time he closed his eyes, the scenes that Satan had showed him played over and over again. He no longer knew what to think or feel about Azraphael; his confidence in them wasn’t gone, but was badly shaken. Why had they hidden their past from him? Why did he feel deceived? Deep down, he knew the answer: they were ashamed, and were fighting every day to make up for all they’d done. However, his new confusion and uncertainty kept him from fully registering this fact. He still refused to give up, and go back on his decision, but this first taste of opposition was powerful. He knew it would only get worse.

Azraphael threaded their fingers through his hair; their gentle touch never failed to sooth him. Before long, his sobs died down to choked gasps, and then quick, staggered breathing. He still trusted them, still believed they were on his side. Just as he was calming down, the acrid stench of sulfur assaulted his nose. He stiffened, unconsciously digging his fingers into the Angel’s back. They had tensed up as well, which only served to further prickle Simon’s nerves. He felt them shift, slowly letting go of him, rubbing his shoulders and upper arms in an attempt to keep him calm. Reluctantly, he let go. They stood up and planted their feet in a ready stance, facing the door. They extended their right arm. Simon watched in wonder as a gleaming silver sword emerged from them. It was so bright; it could have been mistaken for solid light. Azraphael caught the grip in their hand, twirled it once clockwise, and waited. Simon couldn’t see their face, but he imagined it was set in a determined glare.

The other three scientists had all shuffled into the room, and were huddled together at the foot of Simon’s bed. They watched Azraphael in silence. The Angel was so still, they could have been mistaken for a statue. Their wings had emerged, and their Halo appeared above their head – it was glowing brighter than Simon had ever seen it before. He gripped his blanket tight enough to snap a few threads, hating the building tension, but hating that damned smell even more. It grew stronger – _closer_ – with each passing moment.

“Enough hiding!” Azraphael shouted, breaking the silence. The four men jumped. “Show yourself, Demon!”

“Heh…you’re one to talk, Azzy.” Erryll appeared in the doorway, having to duck to enter the room. Simon shrieked, scooting back in a futile panic to put as much distance as he could between himself and the Demon. The other three screamed in fright, holding on tight to one another. Azraphael’s blade was at Erryll’s throat in a flash, threatening to put a hole in it.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.” The Angel’s voice was hard, sporting a murderous edge Simon had never heard before.

“Because doing so under the current conditions would go against the Treaty.” Erryll pushed the blade away nonchalantly. “Don’t wanna start a war just now, do you?” Growling under their breath, Azraphael lowered their sword. He made to move past the Angel, but they pressed a hand firmly to his chest. “Relax. I’m only here to deliver a gift from my Lord.”

“So, you’ve been reduced to the role of errand boy?” Azraphael snorted, earning a hateful glare from Erryll. “Why am I not surprised?”

“And you were once the most powerful, most _feared_ being before my Master’s rise.” He spit at Azraphael’s feet. “Now look at you. Taking orders from self-righteous assholes, put in your place like the rabid dog you are. Stand aside.”

“I don’t think I will, errand boy. Leave. Now.” Azraphael stayed fixed in place. Their defiance was starting to spread to Simon.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want it!” Simon’s voice, although quivering, came out strong and true. Erryll smirked at him, revealing those awful black gums. He shrank back a little in disgust. “T-tell your Master to shove it up his ass!” Azraphael shot him a warning glare, but failed to hide the Pride they felt for him in that moment. It shone through their eyes, and reminded Simon why he chose to trust them in the first place.

“Look, I can’t return until I’ve made the delivery. Those are my orders.” Erryll shrugged, rolling his eyes. “So I’ll leave it right here on your dresser, and be on my way. You can decide what to do with it afterwards.” He reached into a ragged black bag hanging from his shoulder, and produced Satan’s “gift.” It was a bowl of apples, presumably the same ones from the table in that great chamber.

“You’re fucking kidding me…” Azraphael’s shoulders slumped. “God, why is he always so dramatic?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy,” Erryll said, setting the bowl on Simon’s dresser. There was a slight purple aura surrounding it. “But now that that’s over with, I’ll get out of your hair.” He turned to go, then paused. Glancing at Azraphael over his shoulder, he sneered at them. “You know, you could always grovel and beg for my Lord’s forgiveness. I’m sure he’d like to have you back on his side.”

“And I’m sure you both can kiss my ass and fuck off.” Azraphael twirled their sword twice, and let it disappear back up into their arm. “May the next time we meet be on the battlefield.”

“Hmph. Fine.” With that, Erryll vanished in a puff of noxious yellow smoke. Azraphael coughed, waving it out of their face. They turned around to find the three small men approaching them cautiously. Each of them had the same look of fright, confusion, and dread adorning their features. Dropping to one knee, Azraphael opened their arms, welcoming the trio in for a tight, comforting hug. Releasing them, they ruffled Nolan’s hair – he giggled at this – and turned back to Simon. His heart was finally starting to slow down and beat normally again. Without a word, he took Azraphael by the hand and tugged gently. They embraced once more, each heaving a sigh of relief. Simon was caught by surprise when the Angel kissed his cheek. He turned his head to return the gesture, but ended up finding their lips instead.

“WHOO!!” Nolan shouted, double fist-pumping the air. Just like that, the tension was gone, and the strange quintet was able to share a laugh. Simon blushed a little, shifting his eyes away in embarrassment. What he ended up looking at, however, was the bowl of apples – Satan’s “gift.” Azraphael followed his line of sight, then grunted.

“I wonder…” Getting up, they waltzed over to the fruits, scrutinizing them intently. They reached out to grab one – or maybe to take the entire bowl and chuck it out the window – and was knocked backwards by a blinding flash, and a sharp _crack_! Shaking their hand like they’d just touched a burning coal, they hissed through their teeth. “ _Fuck!_ ” Looking at their fingers, they saw they’d been singed. Turning their attention back to Simon, they lifted an eyebrow. “Could you try something for me?”

“What’s that?” He almost didn’t want to know, not after the relic from Hell just deflected an Angel’s touch.

“See if you can pick it up and toss it out your window.” They waited for his response. When all he gave them was a perplexed stare, they shrugged. “It _is_ for you, after all. If you can’t touch it, then I honestly have no clue why it’s here.”

“Alright, that’s fair.” He conceded to give it a try. As he scooted himself over to the edge of his bed, Neo rolled his wheelchair over to him. He couldn’t remember the last time Dr. Cortex had done something nice for him, and it made his heart swell a little. “Th-thank you, Neo.” The little yellow man just smiled and patted the seat. All of Simon’s practice was finally paying off. He was able to slide himself into the chair without a hitch. Rolling himself over to his dresser, he reached out for the bowl. So far, so good. Both hands around it, and nothing bad happened. Then, he tried to lift it, and the damn thing refused to budge. It felt as though it weighed a literal ton. “What the?”

“How about just one apple?” Nitrus suggested this, keeping his distance from the accursed object. Simon tried it, finding that he was able to pluck one from the bowl with ease. He wheeled around to face the window. Nolan had opened it all the way, then moved out of the line of fire. Simon hurled the apple as hard as he could. It sailed gracefully into the open air, and disappeared beyond everyone’s line of sight. For a moment, he was satisfied, thinking he would just chuck each apple individually. Then, it came back. It retraced almost the exact trajectory it had flown on, and hit Simon square in the gut, disturbing his damaged vertebrae. He groaned and held himself, taking a moment to discover that the apple was much heavier than before – about thirty pounds heavier. He needed both hands to move it back to the bowl.

“I think I’m stuck with them, Azraphael.” Simon huffed, suddenly nauseated. He allowed it to pass, grateful that the Angel was taking his pain once again.

“Oh, fuck me runnin’!” They growled, their voice slightly distorted. “Ugh, okay. Alright. I’ll see if any of my contacts at Miskatonic can help us out with this.” They cracked their knuckles, wincing slightly when they touched their burnt fingers. “In the meantime, Simon, I don’t want you staying in the same room as that thing. Neo, is there another available bedroom?”

“Of course!” He grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “Castle Cortex isn’t just the perfect evil lair, it’s outfitted for maximum comfort!”

“Awesome.” Azraphael grinned. They rested a hand on Simon’s shoulder. He looked up, meeting their eyes, and smiled back at them. “Not to change the subject too abruptly, but I need to know…is your Time Twister still operational?”

“No.” The smile fell away from Simon’s face, replaced with a glower. “It imploded after our defeat a couple decades ago.”

“Do you think you can rebuild it?” That came as a shock to each of the men; they stared at Azraphael like they had three heads. “You’ll only need it one more time, then it must be destroyed for good.” Simon considered this. He closed his eyes, shoving past the horrifying imagery Satan had so graciously planted in his brain, and went into the depths of his mind. He summoned forth the memories of building the Time Twister, the second-most complete and complex machine he’d ever constructed. It took him decades to create, but that’s because it was a constantly evolving experiment, and he was alone. Now, armed with his experiences, he was convinced it could be done.

“I know I can.” Opening his eyes once again, his gaze rested on his friends. “But it’ll take a long time if I do it myself. Would you three be willing to help me?” Neo and Nolan exchanged glances, then smirked, nodding their agreement. Nitrus, however, cast his gaze to the floor, shuffling his feet. “What’s wrong, Nitrus?’

“I-I think I’d just m-m-mess things up.” Nitrus mumbled, barely audible. “Th-th-the only things I’m g-g-good at engineering are weapons of mass d-destruction.” He gave Simon an earnest look. “B-but I _will_ try to help you with that f-fruit bowl. I g-gave a lot of thought t-t-to what you said last night. You’re right; I _am_ s-s-someone who can deal with these things. What is a m-magic artifact but t-t-technology with a twist? I’ve had p-plenty of experience with the arcane.”

“Then I’d be honored to borrow your expertise, Nitrus.” Simon beamed at him, not realizing at first just how much he’d meant it. He’d always had a unique respect for Dr. N. Brio, but failed to ever show it in all the years they’d known one another. He passed his gaze over each of his friends; it was clear that they were just as uncertain and afraid as he, but also just as determined. When the N-Team put their minds to something, they would stop at nothing to achieve their goal, no matter how many times they may fail. He remembered how, when their past endeavors had blown up in their faces, they jumped right back into the fire and tried again. If nothing else, their sheer tenacity was overwhelmingly admirable. He respected that greatly.

“Gentlemen,” Simon began, taking a moment to put his thoughts in order. “I know I’m putting each of you in grave danger simply by being here. Although my experience was brief, I went to Hell last night. I didn’t see all that much, but I know now that all I _thought_ I knew of Evil barely skimmed the surface. If I think for a moment that the risk is too great for you, I will leave, and handle my problems elsewhere.”

“No way.” Neo scowled, shaking his head fervently.

“Not a chance.” Nolan agreed, straightening himself out as much as he could.

“Y-y-you’ll have to do better than that t-to convince us.” Nitrus concluded.

“Don’t be fools!” Simon nearly shouted, clenching his fists. His pulse suddenly skyrocketed. He glared at the other three scientists; when they refused to budge, a long sigh escaped him. “Idiots…” He looked to Azraphael for help, but the Angel was smirking at him with a bemused expression. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re on _their_ side with this one?!”

“I am!” They laughed, and Simon gave them a “what gives?” gesture. “Y’all are in this together, now, Simon.” They clapped a hand on his shoulder, offering him that charming grin he couldn’t resist. He melted a little, his temper fading. “Just like old times, right? We got the gang back together, and I ain’t leaving this time.”

“You’d better not.” He laid his hand over theirs, giving it a little squeeze. His eyes betrayed the Fear coiled up in the pit of his stomach. It made him want to scream. “I need you, Azraphael. We all do. More than ever.”


	12. Leaders of Men

Azraphael left to seek help from a friend, and the four scientists made their way down to the vast chambers beneath Castle Cortex. Simon managed to dig up some of his old notes and blueprints. It had been decades since he’d glimpsed them. Brushing off the dust and cobwebs, he breathed a sigh of relief, finding that the information was the most recent, and most complete. His eyes traced the carefully sketched lines of the blueprints, the hastily scribbled notes in the corners, and the frustrated penning of equations in all open spaces. A smile of nostalgia touched his lips; he ran his fingers across the papers, remembering all the sleepless nights and caffeine-powered days. In his mind, the creation of the Time Twister was, once upon a time, his magnum opus. It wasn’t until his Rift Generator was complete that he realized how wrong he’d been. The Rift Generator was, by far, his true masterpiece.

He sighed softly, thinking of all the potential that was lost when both machines were destroyed. Then, he shivered, realizing just how lucky everyone had been that, when the destruction occurred, there was no lasting damage to Time and Space. He figured it had something to do with the Quantum Masks taking control, and keeping everything in check. Never before had it dawned on him just how reckless he’d been when playing with Time as though it were but a child’s favorite toy. He thought again of the timelines he’d collapsed, and had to suppress a sudden surge of tears. His eyes and nose stung, and he turned his attention back to the blueprints. The other three scientists had gathered around him, waiting for his instruction.

“Until I’m allowed to walk again,” he began, glancing back and forth between the blueprints and his friends. “I’m not able to help with much of the lifting.” He turned the papers around to show the others, and pointed to the sketch which indicated the first stage of construction. “We’re going to need to begin with the cooling pipes. Since this machine will only have a singular purpose, we’ll only need about forty feet worth of piping, connected to a generator, and a liquid nitrogen pump.”

“Sounds simple enough to begin with,” Neo said, grinning at him. “We can actually repurpose my current setup, with a few minor modifications.”

“Excellent!” Simon retrieved a tattered notebook and a pen. Finding a blank page, he wrote: “pump, generator, piping, done.” Looking over the blueprints again, he suppressed a groan. The next piece had to be the warp pad itself; a complicated piece of machinery that, even if all the components could be found in the Castle, would take at least three days to construct. He thought it over for a moment, then decided not to worry about the warp pad until the initial setup was complete. “Let’s get started on rerouting the pipes.” He paused, sighing softly. Rerouting the pipes would require a lot of time spent on hands and knees, and crawling into tight spaces. He cursed under his breath, then laid the blueprints before the other scientists. “That’s something I can’t help you with right now.”

“It’s okay.” Nolan spoke up first, grabbing Simon’s attention. “As long as we know what to do, and where to go, we can handle it.”

“Exactly!” Neo nodded his agreement. “Just relax, and let us get to work.”

“I c-can help until Azzy returns w-with their friend from…uh…” Nitrus scratched the back of his head, searching for the right word. “Miskatonic? Do you know what that is?”

“Not in the slightest,” Simon shook his head, shrugging. “If you follow this first set of blueprints, it’ll show you exactly what you need to do. Just cut the required measurements down to one fifth of the original, and it’ll be perfect. In the meantime, I can whip up some food for you.”

“Please, no.” Neo’s face turned sour. “The last time you cooked, you gave us all food poisoning.” Simon held back an angry retort, realizing that Neo was right. He hadn’t attempted real food preparation since then, instead opting for takeout, dine-in, or anything microwavable. “But perhaps some lemonade instead?”

“Sure! Easy enough.” Simon chuckled, hoping to hide his embarrassment. He left the others with the blueprints, then took the lift back to the main level of the Castle. He situated himself in the kitchen; not much had changed since he’d last been there with the N-Team, and it took no time at all to find the instant lemonade mixture. All was going accordingly at first; he prepared the pitcher of water, measured out the mixture, and was stirring it all together. Then, something happened. The thought of adding rat poison, or even arsenic, flashed across his mind. It came so suddenly, and without cause, he had to back away from the pitcher, and dropped the spoon. Glancing around the room, he soon discovered that the bowl of apples had appeared on the far counter. Its greasy purple aura was practically pulsating.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he said to himself, his shoulders slumping. He stared the fruits down, almost certain that if he turned his back, they would move again. After a few long moments, he turned back to the lemonade. The pitcher itself was just as he’d left it, but the bowl of apples had moved directly next to it. “Oh, come on!” Without thinking, he reached out to grab the bowl, with the intention of throwing the whole thing in the incinerator. Just before his fingers brushed the rim, a hand seized his wrist.

“I wouldn’t.” This voice was new and unexpected. Simon looked over to find himself confronted by a woman, perhaps in her late twenties. She wore something quite similar to the boy’s winter uniform from the Academy of Evil, except that it was tailored in dulled hues of browns and greens. Her mousy brown hair was tied back in a loose, messy ponytail, and her keen peridot eyes spoke volumes of the wonders she’d already witnessed in her life. Her face was sparsely dotted with freckles, and despite her young countenance, she was already adorned with lines brought about by trial and tribulation. Before Simon could ask who she was, or how she got in, Azraphael appeared beside her.

“Simon, this is my good friend, Dr. Ellie Gilman, of Miskatonic University.” With that, Ellie released her hold on Simon’s wrist, and gave him a firm handshake. “She’s agreed to help us with the problematic fruit bowl.”

“Pleased to meet you, Dr. Gilman.” Simon moved his chair away from the apples, glad that he was prevented from touching them. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Likewise, Dr. Ensign. It’s no trouble. I owe Azraphael a great deal, so it’s the least I could do.” Ellie smiled, resting a hand on her hip. “It seems as though you’re in more of a predicament than our dear old Angel previously described. They never once mentioned the bowl being able to relocate itself.”

“I just found that out for myself.” Simon then explained how the fruits had just appeared while he was making lemonade for his friends. He was tempted to leave out the part about his sudden desire to add some sort of poison to the mix, but he was certain that it was due to the cursed relic. His companions listened carefully; Ellie took down notes on a small pad she produced from her vest pocket, and Azraphael held his hand, rubbing the back of it with their thumb, soothing him. They always seemed to know just how to help him relax his nerves. Once Ellie was done writing, she placed the notepad back into her pocket.

“Get rid of that lemonade,” she said. “I’d throw away the mixture, too. And the spoon you used to stir it with. Oh, and the pitcher.” Reluctantly, Simon obeyed, dumping everything into the incinerator – it took the place of what would usually be a garbage disposal installed in a sink. Azraphael picked the spoon up off the floor, pinching it tentatively between the tips of their thumb and forefinger, then tossed it into the sink. It clattered a few times, and was then swallowed up by the flames. Simon sighed; he’d genuinely wanted to give something to his friends, but if there was any possibility of danger, he was willing to take any and all precautions. “Azraphael,” Ellie glanced over at the Angel, who was glaring silently at the bowl of apples. Without moving, they shifted their eyes to her. “Would you go tell the other gentlemen of what has transpired? I need a moment to discuss the situation with Dr. Ensign. Also, please bring Dr. Brio when you return.”

“Sure thing, Ellie.” Azraphael stepped out of the room, leaving Simon alone with the enigmatic Dr. Gilman. He explained everything as quickly, and succinctly as he could, starting with his dream-journey to Hell, and finishing with the “gift” from Satan teleporting into the kitchen while he prepared refreshments for his friends. Ellie listened with great interest, not once interrupting, but taking several pauses to reproduce her notepad, and record vital information.

“Well, Doctor,” she finally said, looking over her notes. “I do believe this will take a few weeks to deal with, at the very least.” Simon’s heart sank at this, but he was still glad to have her help. “Until Dr. Brio and I can at least contain the artifact, you would be wise to sleep _only_ under the protection of Azraphael.”

“Thank you, Dr. Gilman. I hope this can be resolved quickly.”

“Oh, me too.” Nitrus piped up, entering the kitchen. He had the look of a man deeply lost in thought, and coming up short on solutions to a problem. He gave Ellie a once-over, then extended a hand. Ellie took it happily, giving it a strong pump. “A p-pleasure to meet you, Dr. Gilman. I h-hope we c-c-can handle this quickly.”

“As do I, Dr. Brio,” Ellie’s expression was severe. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Ensign regarding everything he knows of the relic, and have yet to reach a conclusion as to its capabilities, or how to get rid of it. Perhaps you and I will have better luck together.”

“That would be nice,” Nitrus nodded once, then gestured to the doorway from which he entered. “M-my friends and I h-have already encountered p-p-problems with reconstructing the Time Twister, and I’m n-not certain it’s not because of th-the bowl.”

“Oh, no…what happened?” Simon’s blood ran cold. He searched Nitrus’ face for an explanation, but found none.

“The piping is shot,” he said plainly. “It w-will all have to b-be replaced.”

“Damn it!” Simon gritted his teeth, glaring down at the floor. Azraphael gripped his shoulders softly, giving them a gentle squeeze. He relaxed into their touch, and closed his eyes. Leaning his head back, he rested it against their stomach. They ran their fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently, calming him further. “Okay. Okay…we can still deal with this.” He sighed, placing his hand over the one still on his shoulder. “Nitrus, how soon do you think we can replace the pipes?”

“Two or three days.” Nitrus paused, then straightened up a bit. “Say, w-what happened to that l-lemonade?”

“The relic happened.” Simon jerked a thumb over his shoulder. Nitrus looked past him, and when he shrugged with a confused expression, Ellie sighed, then chuckled. “What?”

“It moved again.” She opened the brown bag hanging from her shoulder, and produced a small, rectangular device. It looked somewhat like a remote, with several buttons and dials, but sported a crooked antenna, and a small, round screen. “This device should give us an idea of where it is, though. My friend and colleague, Dr. Pabodie, engineered this in, oh, 1926 or so, and has allowed Azraphael and I to borrow it for the task at hand. We were lucky to have caught up with him in time – he was just about to leave for his expedition to Antarctica.”

“1926?” Nitrus gave a start, looking between her and the Angel, perplexed. “W-what year did Azzy b-b-bring you from?”

“1928,” she smiled, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I confess, I’ve not yet had the time to get acquainted with this era, or Universe. Azraphael was in such a hurry to get us here, they were only able to explain a little about it. But no matter! On to the work at hand.” She twisted two of the dials, and pressed a button on the device. Her grin faded, and she stared at the screen with a look of utter bewilderment.

“Ellie?” Azraphael leaned over, taking a peek at the screen. Their expression crossed from confused, to upset, and finally to amused. “Oh, I see.” They gave Nitrus a tired grin and shook their head. “You guys are still hiding Crystals and Gems, huh?”

“W-well, yes. They’re the most efficient sources of p-power we have.” Nitrus explained. “W-we need them f-f-for the time being.”

“They’re also dangerous to mortal minds.” Azraphael countered. “But we can take care of that business later. Ellie, can you work past this?”

“One moment…I can tune out their frequencies.” Ellie fidgeted with the device, until a satisfied grin touched her features. “Excellent! I do believe I’ve located our problematic relic!” She showed the others the screen, which had a single, pulsating green dot. “Dr. Brio, let’s you and I set off before it moves again.”

“Right behind y-you, Dr. Gilman.” With that, Nitrus shuffled out of the kitchen after Ellie, leaving Simon and the Angel alone.

“Now what?” Simon grumbled, glaring at the floor. “All progress with the Time Twister was halted before it could even begin!”

“There’s other work to be done.” Azraphael rubbed his shoulders gently, then pressed a kiss to his temple, sending a small jolt through his heart. In all the commotion, he’d almost forgotten to tend to his emotions. Turning his head, he half-expected to meet the Angel’s lips again, and was disappointed to find that they’d pulled back. However, those dancing flames behind their eyes told him that they, too, wanted nothing more than to show the extent of their affection.

“Quite,” Simon cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away. “What would you suggest we do?”

“I’ve called for Sahl’resh. He’s going to take another look at that leg.”

“So soon?” Simon couldn’t hide his skepticism. “Didn’t he say it needed time to heal naturally?”

“Yes, but his energy has a way of speeding up the natural process. I’m hoping he’ll be able to push it along further, and get you back on your feet quicker.” They gave his shoulders a firm squeeze. “The N-Team needs a leader, Simon, and you’re it. It’s _always_ been you, no matter what Uka Uka might think.”


	13. Thwarted Plans

Simon glanced over his shoulder at Azraphael, giving them a look of disbelief. “You really think that?” They merely nodded, smiling warmly. He couldn’t help but return their grin; although he didn’t fully believe them, he appreciated the sentiment. Any words of encouragement from the Angel were always welcome. Once more, he found himself staring unabashedly into their eyes, wishing for them to come closer, if only to see that delightful, swirling chaos once more. Had he felt bolder, he would have asked Azraphael to grant him such an odd wish. Something told him they wouldn’t refuse his request, just as something told him it would inevitably end with a kiss.

Just as he was pondering this, several small _bangs!_ , and a piercing shriek snatched the duo’s attention. All lights were suddenly extinguished, and anything electrical without batteries powered down. Neo came bounding into the kitchen as fast as his legs could carry him; his hair was partially ablaze, his lab coat singed, and his eyes wide with terror. Azraphael grabbed a towel from the counter, and was at the poor man’s side, snuffing the flames that threatened to harm him. He was shaking violently, his breathing labored, and was almost unable to stand without holding the Angel’s arm for support. They knelt by his side, keeping watch, almost as though expecting his hair to spontaneously combust.

“What happened?” Simon finally found his words, wheeling himself closer to his old friend. Neo held a hand over his heart, eyes closed, forcing himself to take long, slow breaths to calm himself.

“I-I was going to shut off most of the power to the underground, so we could have a safer time removing the old pipes. The electrical panels _exploded_ as soon as I touched them!” He gripped Azraphael’s shoulders, staring them down with wild fright. “This is because of that accursed fruit bowl, isn’t it?! Oh, please, tell me you can do _something_ to fix this!” He gestured to the fridge. “We’re going to lose _so much_ food! We just went grocery shopping the other day!” He let go of them, slumping against the wall and sliding his back down it until he was sitting on the floor. “The worst part, is that I can’t find Nolan anywhere!”

“What do you mean?” Simon’s brow knit itself together in concern. He was completely on edge, now. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to round up all his friends, and force them to leave the Castle for their own safety. “Neo, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Just before Nitrus left to join Dr. Gilman.” He gulped, looking horribly nauseous. “I thought nothing of it at first, but I took a look around before going to shut off the electricity. His locator beacon won’t even show up on my radar watch.”

“You two stay here.” Azraphael stood, glaring out into the dark corridor. “Do _not_ leave each other’s sight. I’ll bring back the others.” Simon nearly protested this plan, but they were gone in a flash. He didn’t know how or why, but a sinking feeling told him that it wasn’t _just_ the relic that was causing problems. Under his breath, he muttered a quick wish for everyone’s safe return. Just then, Azraphael came running back into the kitchen. They skidded to a halt, looking around in confusion. “Oh, no…” They rushed back out again, and within moments, were in the kitchen once again. “Shit!”

“What are you doing?” Neo raised an eyebrow, then, a crushing realization dawned on his face. “Don’t tell me…we’re stuck.”

“It’s looping me back around. We can’t leave.” They pressed the little circle on their temple and waited. The more time that passed, the more dismayed they appeared. “And no signals can breach the barrier…” Neo groaned aloud at this, almost looking as though he were ready to cry. Simon didn’t know what to say or do. He’d never been in such a predicament before. “There is…one thing…” Azraphael’s voice was barely audible. They stared at the floor for a long moment, then snapped their eyes shut, letting out an irritated huff. “Both of you, look away.”

“W-why?” Neo pulled his knees up to his chest. He looked more and more pathetic as the seconds ticked by, and Simon was nearly ready to slap some sense into him. He caught himself, however, shaking the invasive thought from his mind.

“Because I’m about to try something I haven’t done in a long time, and I don’t want to force you to witness my transformation.”

“Just listen to them,” Simon nearly snapped. His head was beginning to throb dully. If it were left alone for too long, he knew it would evolve into a debilitating migraine. “Close your eyes, and keep your head down.” He waited for Neo to follow his instructions before allowing himself to. A visceral tearing and snapping reached his ears, almost pushing him to retch – he heard Neo fight back the same urge to vomit. Then, the _smell_ came, and Neo couldn’t hold it in any longer. Simon swallowed hard, forcing the contents of his stomach to stay down. The miasma that enveloped them stunk like a putrefied corpse.

“I’m sorry…” Azraphael’s distorted two-to-seven tone voice echoed all around them. Simon looked up just then, and immediately regretted it. A blackish organic mass had attached itself to the floor; tendrils of varying thicknesses extended from it, sprawling in all directions, and if one looked close enough, they could be seen pulsating. “I know, it’s gross…just bear with me. Succeed or fail, I won’t be long.”

“What in the name of everything under the sun is _that_?!” Already plastered against the wall, Neo couldn’t retreat further, although he tried. His lab coat was stained with fresh vomit of various hues, no doubt the result of the previous night’s drinking escapades.

“That would be Azraphael.” Simon averted his gaze, once more having to force down his stomach, much to its aggravation. “They’re not exactly a ‘normal’ Angel.”

“Azzy…?” Neo crawled forth hesitantly, timidly poking at the weird mass. It wiggled like a Jell-O mold, and he shrank back again with a look of partial disgust, and partial fascination.

“One minute,” they replied, then let out a short bark of laughter. “Alright! I think I’ve got them all.” All was still and silent for a few moments, then the missing persons were pushed out of the mass, covered in reeking black goo. Nitrus was on his feet first, luckily making it to the trash can in time to throw up, while Nolan held his knees up to his chest, shivering and afraid. Ellie, however, busied herself with raking the goo out of her hair – she’d evidently been in similar situations before, and was hardly bothered.

“Please, Azraphael,” she began, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry. Everyone, look away.” Each of the companions did as they were asked, without question. When Azraphael reshaped themselves, they were taking the form of the strange, beastly creature. Nitrus, Nolan, and Neo each gave a startled cry, but when Ellie and Simon remained calm, they regained their composure. “Well, this is certainly an interesting turn of events.” They steepled their fingers, apparently staring down the dark corridor with an expression that somehow communicated irritation. “Let me see if I have everything in order…first, Simon encounters the bowl of apples. Then, Nolan disappears. After that, the electrical panels explode. _Something_ then causes us all to be locked into whatever rooms we’re in, and I have to, quite literally, squirm through the walls and floors to bring us back together. Does that sound correct, Ellie?”

“Quite so,” she said, getting to her feet. Turning to Nolan, she leaned over and put a hand on the little cyborg’s shoulder. He jumped in surprise, looking at her as though he were being hunted. “What happened to you, Dr. Gintrey? Are you alright?”

“I-I felt something grab me!” Nolan sniffed, tears welling up in the corner of his good eye. “I tried to scream, but nothing came out! It wasn’t hands that snagged me, either…it felt like burning tentacles.” He looked at Azraphael, at first with suspicion, and then an odd mixture of relief and fright. “Yours were cold…I know it wasn’t you. But you do look kinda scary, Azzy.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” They reached down, giving his hair a gentle ruffle. He tensed up at first, then smiled, leaning into their touch. This sent a jolt of envy through Simon’s heart – _he_ wanted to be the one receiving the Angel’s affection – but he did well to hide it. He turned his gaze away for a moment, then looked back at the creature that hovered before the odd group. “Whatever’s happening is restricting me from taking any human form…so I’ve settled on my favorite.”

“ _This_ is your favorite form?” Neo ejaculated, utterly bewildered. He looked Azraphael up and down several times. “You _are_ kind of scary…”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Ellie laughed, almost in a carefree manner, despite what was happening to them all. “Azraphael is utterly harmless to those they care for.”

“Give away all my secrets, why don’t you?” The Angel sounded somewhat cross, but still gave Ellie a warm smile. Then, they turned back to Nolan. “Tell me, where did you go when you were grabbed?”

“I don’t know! It was so dark, I couldn’t see anything!” Nolan unconsciously reached up to the rocket lodged in his head. It was trembling, and the tiniest bit of black smoke was leaking from its thruster. “It felt like I was trapped in stone!”

“It makes sense, seeing as I had to retrieve you from _inside_ the walls.” Azraphael turned to the window above the sink, and hovered in silence for a few long moments before continuing. “I think I can get you all out of here, but let me test it, first.” Without hesitation, they opened the window, and squirmed out of it. The drop was at least fifty feet from there to the rocky beach below. Ellie, clearly excited with anticipation, rushed over and stuck her head out into the open air. She laughed, moving away from the window when the Angel came back into sight. A wide grin was plastered on their face, showing off those frightful needle-teeth of theirs. “I have an idea, but most of you are going to absolutely hate it.”

“Anything t-t-to get out of this situation,” Nitrus whined, still holding his stomach. His was, by far, the weakest of the group’s.

“Neo, Nitrus, Nolan…Simon…” Azraphael steepled their fingers again, shifting their eyeless gaze between the four of them. They all perked up, ready to listen. “If you’re still on-board with our plans, then you must reconcile with Crash, Coco, Tawna, and Aku Aku. I was planning to do this later on, but in light of recent events, I believe it must be done much sooner. Are you ready for such a task?”

“Yes,” Simon declared without hesitation. He straightened himself up to the best of his ability, ignoring the pain beginning to scream at him from his damaged vertebrae. Deep down, he still felt the old, gnawing hatred for the Bandicoots and their “father figure,” but he was unwavering in his resolve to make things right. Azraphael gave him a bright smile, igniting a flame within his heart, melting any uncertainty.

“ _WHAT_.” The other three scientists nearly yelled in unison. They all exchanged looks of uncertainty, and a deep-seated loathing.

“Neo, Nitrus…you two are both responsible for the Bandicoots’ current state of existence, and must be held accountable.” Azraphael gave them a broad smile, revealing their teeth again. “Besides, do you really think you can lay blame upon them for thwarting your plans for ‘world domination?’ Honestly, we’ll all need to have a serious chat about that later, but for now, I need you to be willing to follow my lead, and more importantly, Simon’s.” Neo and Nitrus exchanged glances, both appearing defeated, and ready to follow Azraphael’s guidance. The Angel then turned their great head towards Nolan. “And you, my dear friend…I know you’ve only been acting under orders, but you can’t deny your willingness in multiple attempts to murder these forsaken creatures.” Nolan opened his mouth as if to protest, then stopped himself, shifting his gaze to the floor with a most shameful, pitiful expression. “Do you still want to walk along the path towards Redemption?”

“You ask as though we have a choice,” Neo crossed his arms, glowering at the floor. He kicked petulantly at the baseboard near the stove. Had he been able to, Simon may not have been able to stop himself from reaching over, and smacking the little yellow man upside the back of the head.

“There is always a choice,” Azraphael declared, grabbing the scientists’ attention yet again. They placed their massive hands on their scant, almost nonexistent hips. “You can back out at any time. All of you can.”

Neo seemed to consider this for a long moment, then sighed and hung his head, making a sweeping gesture towards the window. “Fine. I’m at least willing to try. But after our last adventure, I don’t think they’ll be so willing to listen.”

“I could be quite wrong, but you may be surprised.” Squirming back into the kitchen, they picked Neo up gingerly. “Nolan, Nitrus…are you in?”

“F-f-fine.” Nitrus glared at the wall, nearly snarling. “B-but if this doesn’t work, I d-don’t know what to do. How are D-Dr. Gilman and I supposed t-t-to deal with the relic if w-we can’t be in the C-Castle?”

“Don’t worry, Dr. Brio,” Ellie gave him a cheerful grin. “I’m certain it’ll present us with another opportunity before too long.” She had a strange optimism about her, and Simon couldn’t help but admire it. Clearly, she’d been in tougher positions than this before, and wouldn’t be put down easily.

“Well, Nolan?” Simon turned to the last member of the N-Team. The little cyborg looked utterly defeated. First he was trapped between the walls, then he was trapped in the kitchen, and now he appeared to feel trapped in a plan he wanted no part in. Before Simon could give him a few words of encouragement, he strutted over to Azraphael, and allowed himself to be scooped up. Nitrus entered their embrace next, and the trio was taken down to the beach. Before long – and with only a small amount of difficulty with Simon’s wheelchair – the ragtag group had escaped Castle Cortex, and was on their way to find the Bandicoots.


	14. The Heroes

The trip across the Wumpa Islands was positively miserable. Without a cloud in sight, the sun beat down mercilessly on the odd group; the air was thick enough to be nearly unbearable to breathe, and hardly any shade was to be found along the white sand beaches. Luckily, there were rafts moored at the docks between islands, but it did nothing to elevate anyone’s spirits. Neo had abandoned his vomit-covered lab coat, and resigned to walking barefoot with his pant legs rolled up. Nolan and Nitrus followed his example before too long, needing to pause every so often to catch their breath. Ellie wound up barefoot as well, but had resorted to using a razor blade – for some reason she carried one in her pocket – to cut the legs off of her slacks, and carried her warm woolen vest over her shoulder. Simon insisted on removing all but the most necessary of his bandages, and went on wheeling himself along through the sand, unless he absolutely had to stop. Although this occurred much to Azraphael’s annoyance, he was still determined to keep as much of his upper body strength as his restricting conditions would allow. They took his pain when he needed them to, and he was grateful that they were willing to allow him to be stubborn in his efforts.

Only the peculiar Angel seemed well-off in the heat, but they made it a point to occasionally grumble about the humidity. When the gang piled onto the rafts, they would sit on the back of them with their robe submerged – they were propelling them across the water faster than any oars could, but couldn’t be prodded into explaining how they were doing it. “All you need to know,” they had said, “is that you shouldn’t ask a Shifter what’s in their pants.” This got a chuckle out of Ellie, and Azraphael had whipped their head around as though to give her a warning glare. She quieted her laughter, and politely refused to answer any questions about their odd friend.

Finally, after daunting hours treading water and sand, the group arrived at the Bandicoots’ home not long before sundown. Before departing, Azraphael had risked one last trip up to the Castle’s kitchen to retrieve as much water as they could carry, and most of it had been depleted. Nolan fell face-first into the shade beneath a small grove of palm trees. He rolled around in the cool sand, sighing in relief. Nitrus joined him, followed by Neo shortly thereafter. Ellie sat in the low tide, enjoying the crisp water, and watching the sun begin to sink below the horizon. Simon’s arms felt both like jelly, and rocks by this point. He stayed situated beneath the palm trees with his old friends, and waited, watching Azraphael. They’d hardly spoken since leaving the Castle; he could tell that they were worried about everyone, and their mind hadn’t stopped running for an instant. In that moment, all he wanted was to be able to comfort them, to hold their hand, to tell them that everything would work out in the end, but he he hardly believed it, himself. He was just as preoccupied with the sudden turn of events as they were.

Coco then emerged from the hut by the path into the jungle. She appeared to be about ready to yell at the N-Team, to demand that they leave, but she stopped, looking them all over with curiosity. Her eyes darted between the smaller men, now sleeping against the trunks of the palm trees, to Simon. Every time she looked back at him, her expression grew more and more confused, if not somewhat sympathetic. He couldn’t deny that he hated seeing her, one of the creatures he’d attempted to destroy for so long, look at him as though he was weak and helpless. Mostly, he hated it because he _felt_ weak and helpless. He knew he still looked like Hell, even after everything Azraphael and Sahl’resh had done to bring him back from death’s door. The two locked eyes, neither of them blinking, and the Bandicoot slowly approached the shadow of the former Dr. N. Tropy.

“N. Tropy?” Her voice was soft and cautious, but her eyes betrayed the suspicion she so rightfully held for him.

“Not anymore,” he sighed, shaking his head. It was all he could do to force himself to smile. “It’s a long story, but I go by ‘Simon Ensign’ now.” From over Coco’s shoulder, he could see Azraphael staring him down. They were smiling, which he took to be a positive sign.

“What the heck happened to you?!” Coco nearly reached out to him, then caught herself, putting her hand to her chest instead. She glanced over at the rest of the N-Team. “And what are _they_ doing here? Why are they so sunburnt and exhausted?”

“I can explain all of this, but it will take some time.” Just then, Azraphael floated up to Coco’s side, bending at the waist to greet her a little closer to her own height. She caught one glimpse of the Angel and let out a horrified shriek, falling backwards and scooting herself away as fast as she could. “I can explain them, too! Err, sort of!” Simon grimaced, unable to find the right words to calm the Bandicoot. Her scream had awoken the other scientists with a violent start. They were on their feet, set in boxers’ fighting stances, looking around frantically for whatever might be presenting a threat. When they saw that it was just Azraphael, they lowered their guards. Then, when they saw Coco there, cowering, a sneer broke across each of their faces.

“Gentlemen,” Azraphael growled, turning their attention to them, as though they’d sensed their feelings of sadistic glee. “Remember why we’re here.” The scientists all faltered, first in fear, then in shame. Simon turned back to Coco; she was tentatively getting to her feet, trying to approach the Angel. They swiveled their head back around to her, and smiled without showing their teeth. “There is much to discuss, Coco. Would you bring your brother, friend Tawna, and Aku Aku? I will hunt us a boar, if you’d be so kind as to provide a fire, and some fruits.” Coco merely nodded, beginning to move towards her hut, all the while still keeping a fearful eye on Azraphael. The Angel chuckled to themselves, letting their teeth show. “Ahaha…I still get a kick out of scaring people every now and then. Anyway…I’ll be back. Don’t get yourselves chased off the island before I return.” With that, they disappeared into the jungle, leaving the scientists to their own devices.

Ellie wandered over, thoroughly soaked, and looking relieved. “If I heard correctly, Azraphael is going to provide us with the main course tonight?” Simon nodded; the other three men were silently huddled together, a look of uncertainty plastered on each of their faces. “Cheer up, gentlemen. You’re about to get a real treat!”

“That’s easy for _you_ to say,” Neo pouted, crossing his arms and glowering down at the sand. “ _You’re_ not the one who has to reconcile with their past!”

“That was oddly eloquent, Neo,” Simon quipped, successfully gaining the yellow man’s attention. It earned him a critical glare, but he was glad to keep the ire from being wrongfully pushed onto Ellie. “Oh, come now. We all have something to answer for.” He looked down at his injured leg, then inspected the scars which marred his torso. “Some of us more than others.”

Neo appeared ready to respond, but was cut short when Coco returned with Crash, Tawna, and Aku Aku. Crash appeared utterly perplexed, unsure of what to make of what he was seeing. Aku Aku was right there with him, at a total loss for words. Tawna, however, jumped into action. She pulled the saber from her hip and placed herself between her friends and the N-Team. A scowl was etched into her features as she strafed back and forth, shifting her eyes from one man to the next. She paused when taking in the visage of Simon, just as Coco had done, but ultimately remained steadfast in her distrust and dislike.

“No way,” she said, firm in her resolve. “I don’t care what the situation is, I’ll never trust _any_ of these bastards.”

“Come now,” Ellie stepped forward, casually lowering Tawna’s saber with one finger. The tall bandicoot appeared confused at first, then raised her blade again. Once more, Ellie lowered it. “I understand you have every reason to utterly hate these men, but I ask you – albeit as a stranger, and yet as a fellow adventurer – to wait until after we feast and converse to make your decision upon your disposition.”

Tawna considered this for a long moment, unblinking, shifting her gaze between her friends and sworn enemies. Then, she snarled. “Fine.” She placed the blade back on her hip, then walked away towards the sea. She sat in the sand, with one hand on her chin, watching out over the waters. She appeared almost statue-like, not moving, and barely showing any signs of life. Simon had already felt immense gratitude towards Ellie for risking her safety in order to help with the unwanted “gift,” and no small amount of admiration for her courage and scientific zeal, but now he was ready to prostrate himself at her feet and thank her for her well-timed intervention. The last thing he needed was to be turned away before even having a chance to set things right.

Before long, Azraphael returned with a gutted boar slung over their shoulder. Crash, Tawna, and even Aku Aku all gave a cry of shock at their sudden appearance, but soon calmed when both Simon and Ellie insisted that they were a friend. The Angel held the beast up by one leg, produced a knife from seemingly out of nowhere, and began skinning their prize. When they had enough of the pelt separated from the meat, they grabbed hold of it and yanked, peeling away the hide with ease. With a little bit of effort, they had the boar ready to be roasted over a fire – said fire had yet to be built, so they once more slung the boar over their shoulder, and gestured towards the fire pit near the hut. Coco brought over logs and kindling, and Crash worked on creating a spark. Aku Aku summoned the materials to create a spit, and Azraphael slid the boar’s carcass onto it. In no time at all, the meat was sizzling, beginning to cook, and the most unusual group in their world was settled before the fire. Nobody dared to speak, save for Ellie and Azraphael.

“So, how are you and Rosa doing?” Azraphael gave Ellie a broad grin, supporting their great head with one hand. Ellie flushed, her reddening cheeks somehow visible in the scant remainder of daylight, and the glare of the roaring fire before her. She covered her mouth, turning her gaze away, but one could still see her smiling beneath her hand.

“I’d say we’re doing well.” She stretched her hands out in front of the fire, warming her palms and fingers. “The long-distance part weighs heavily on both of our hearts, but we write to one another regularly.” Her smile faltered, and her eyelids drooped a little. “I wish I could move to Mexico City with her, or that she could come stay with me in Arkham…but we lead such different lives…neither of us can abandon our current positions.” She sighed, then, and readjusted herself to sit cross-legged, nearer to the fire. Her smile had faded completely, and she almost appeared to have aged five years. “I feel like we’ll never get to really _be_ together.”

“Don’t worry, Ellie.” Azraphael placed a hand gently on her shoulder, giving her a warm smile. “Just have patience. Your work will bring you together once again.” They patted her on the back, then got up to rotate the boar. Ellie processed this for a moment, then smiled to herself, turning back to the fire.

Simon had been watching this brief, yet heartfelt exchange between Ellie and the Angel. He couldn’t help but smile, further realizing Azraphael’s genuine nature. No matter how secretive they could be, they couldn’t hide their affection for those they cared about. He thought back on how they’d come into his life, and swept him into a whirlwind of an adventure. They’d shown him true kindness, but more than that, they’d given him a glimpse of real Love. His heart swelled as he gazed at them, admiring their bioluminescent patterns, and, strangely enough, longing to feel their delicate touch on his skin once again. More than anything, though, he wanted them to open up about their confession to him. He knew, however, much to his dismay, that they would refuse to speak on it until they decided it was time. Until that day came, he was sure he could be patient. After all, patience was the best policy for communicating with them.

They were then situated before him, snatching him from his train of thought. He jumped in place, then calmed, returning their grin. “I have something for you, Simon.” Before he could ask what, they produced a staff which, when standing, would come up to the top of his hip. It didn’t appear to be more than a cut and sanded stick, although it wasn’t straight. It had a slight bend in it, halfway up, then curved back and straightened out the rest of the way to the top. “Sahl’resh will be here tomorrow morning,” Azraphael continued, grabbing his attention away from the stick. “We’re getting you back on your feet…if he deems it possible right now.” Simon understood – this stick was his first cane. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it; there was a distinct mixture of anger, frustration, and defeat, but also a sense of happiness in the prospect of walking again, and a twinge of hope. However bleak the future may have looked from that moment on, and no matter how little he really knew about what he’d have to do in order to find Redemption, he was determined to keep pushing forward.

“Hold up,” Tawna snapped, just as Simon was about to take the cane. He looked in her direction; she was sitting clear across from him, fixing him with a most murderous glare. “We still don’t even know what’s going on. Don’t think you’re just going to get comfy here.”

“Hey,” Coco interjected, placing a gentle hand on Tawna’s forearm. The taller bandicoot glanced at her, softening her gaze. “It’s okay. We’re gonna figure all of this out.” Tawna seemed to consider this for a moment, then shook her head.

“No…no! Come on, you guys!” She was addressing the siblings and Aku Aku. “These assholes just tried to kill us all!” She got to her feet, and began to pace around the fire. “How can we _possibly_ trust them not to try again?” Once more, that murderous glare was locked onto Simon. “And _you_ …” She strutted over to him, ignoring Coco’s attempt to reach out and take her hand. When she was in front of the broken man, she had to lean over to get eye-to-eye with him. “ _You’re_ the worst out of your whole messed up gang. You can talk all you want, give any story you want, but I’ll _always_ see you as just another variation of the bitch that killed my friends in my own Universe. Where is she, anyway? Plotting our murders while you gain our pity?”

“ _She’s dead!_ ” Simon snapped, the harshness in his voice surprising even him. Tawna recoiled, her eyes growing wide. His fists and jaw were clenched, and he was sure that if he saw his reflection, it would remind him of the part of him he was still determined to leave behind.

“Wait…what?” She looked around at everyone else seated around the fire. The N-Team, Ellie, and Azraphael merely nodded their confirmation. Crash, Coco, and Aku Aku, however, appeared just as stunned as her. When she turned back to Simon, there was still a considerable amount of doubt in her countenance, but she took a step back, lowering her voice. “When? How?”

“It seems as though there really _is_ much to discuss.” Aku Aku finally spoke, and floated over to Tawna. She glanced at him, speechless, then back to Simon. When their eyes met again, he could see some of her doubt beginning to fade. “Come…it will take some time for the boar to cook. We may as well begin hearing them out.”


	15. Night on the Beach

In a few short words, Aku Aku had managed to calm Tawna’s temper, and coaxed her into sitting by the fire once more. Everyone – even Azraphael – looked to Simon, silently asking him to begin telling the story from the beginning. He resigned to do so, despite feeling rather unprepared for the task. His outburst had gotten the better of him; his pulse had quickened, and his jaw was still clenched as he began. He once again relived the fight between himself and his counterpart, but unlike when telling the tale to his friends, he found it difficult to speak of, and needed to pause often to regain his composure. What was worse for him, however, was that Azraphael kept their distance. He wished they would at least offer to hold his hand as he recounted the tragic event, but they remained stationary, hovering in place next to the boar. Their expression was, for once, unreadable. He took it as a sign that he was still processing everything, and needed to be allowed the space to do so.

“She’s really gone…” Tawna said, breaking the silence after Simon had finished describing the fight. She sat with her back to the fire, facing Simon, and pulled a knee up to her chest. “I really never thought it would happen.” Her voice was quiet, almost subdued, and her expression was crossed between acceptance and disbelief.

“Well, it did,” he grunted, turning his attention to his old friends. “And then, things got weird.” He spoke at length about how Azraphael had come to him in what seemed to be his final moments, and saved him from the brink of death. He explained every detail, except for his odd relationship with the Angel, deciding that it would ultimately be best to keep that to himself. When glancing over at Azraphael, however, he couldn’t make out what was on their mind when he told this part of the story. Although disheartened by their apparent apathy, he continued, telling of his return to Castle Cortex, Uka Uka leaving, Azraphael’s offer, and the shenanigans that ensued. He smiled, recalling the previous night as though it had been twenty-four years, instead of only twenty-four hours since he’d experienced it. Time felt different to him, after so long of being a manipulator of it. Moments felt like minutes to him; Time was dilated significantly from his perspective, and he chalked it up to having been exposed to its mysterious inner workings for so long.

“My brother has returned, then,” Aku Aku said, his voice thick with concern. “And we don’t know where he is…this is not good.”

“No,” Azraphael agreed, “but I’ve been keeping an eye out for him. So far, I don’t think he’s been around.”

“We must still be vigilant,” the ancient mask warned. “You may have bested him, but he’ll try again when you’re not expecting it.”

Then came the description of Hell, and Simon’s brief and ultimately benevolent experience of it. He gave every detail he could remember – which was most – and felt a chill crawling up the back of his neck to the base of his skull as he described it. His encounters with Erryll and Satan were the most difficult parts to speak of. He wouldn’t deny how frightened he was of both of them, and for good reason. Opting to leave out what Satan had showed him of Azraphael’s past, he moved on to the “gift.” When speaking of the bowl of apples, and how it had so quickly and so terribly interfered with the lives of the scientists, he couldn’t help but shudder. It gave him chills, despite the warm night, and the added heat of the fire. Still, there was no sign of support from Azraphael. They rotated the boar once again, and remained neutral. He decided that he would have to speak to them later on, and figure out what was wrong, if anything.

“And here we are, now,” he said after explaining everything that had happened after the relic appeared, and Ellie’s willingness to help with the matter. “Believe me or not, I’ve given you nothing but the truth.”

“It’s pretty far-fetched,” Coco said, holding her head up with both hands. “But I believe you.” Aku Aku felt the same, and Crash nodded his agreement. Tawna, however, was still skeptical.

“I believe that all this happened,” she began cautiously. “But I just don’t believe you four are willing or able to change your ways.” She stood up, then, beginning to pace in front of the fire once more. Her face was set in a contemplative expression. “After all this time – especially for _you_ , ‘Simon’ – I just can’t believe that you’d be willing to give up Evil just because an Angel happened to be a part of your lives.”

“That’s not why we’re doing it,” Simon protested, gripping the arms of his wheelchair and leaning forward as far as he could. He’d gotten her attention; her gaze was piercing, her icy blue eyes challenging him to continue. “Err, I mean, that’s not why _I’m_ doing it. I can’t speak for my friends, but I’m…I’m…” The fire in him died just then, and he slumped back in his chair, loosening his grip on the arms. He breathed slowly, thinking his next words through carefully before speaking again. “I’m doing it because being Evil is never what _I_ actually wanted.”

“Yeah, right.” Tawna rolled her eyes to this, further igniting Simon’s temper. “Didn’t you guys go to an actual _school_ for it?”

“Yes, but…” Simon snapped his eyes shut, and let out a long, low sigh. “I was dropped off there as an infant.” When he opened his eyes again, just about everyone was staring at him in astonishment. He’d still never told his friends about being “adopted” by Madame Amberley, or why it was necessary to rebuild the Time Twister for one last jump. Seeing no other choice, he laid it all out for them, even going so far as to explain why it was that the headmistress was so much harder on him than everyone else at the Academy. “She was training me to be her idea of the ‘perfect villain.’” The others listened with bated breaths, nodding their understanding, encouraging him to continue. He relaxed a little, realizing how tense he’d become. After a quick consideration, he decided to tell his greatest secret: his true age, how it had happened, and how it had affected him for millennia. In the end, he concluded that being thrown so hard and so far off his pedestal had broken his god complex, and he wasn’t sorry for it. For the first time since his teenage years, he was experiencing the world through a – somewhat – normal lens. He could admit that, although he hated feeling completely powerless, he was ultimately grateful to have been given another chance at life.

“So…” Coco appeared deep in thought. Simon looked at her, waiting patiently. “If you can’t go back to the Castle for all your high-tech stuff, how are you going to go back in time?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted glumly. “I’ve not really thought about that, what, with everything else we have to worry about at the moment.” Crash babbled something unintelligible, which gave Aku Aku a start. “What? What did he say?”

“He suggested we ask Kupuna-Wa for her assistance.” The witch doctor’s eyes narrowed as he stared down Neo. “But I don’t think she’ll be so eager to help after that last stunt you pulled, Dr. Cortex.”

“Crash,” Cortex began, his shoulders slumping, his face twisted with exhaustion. “Sometimes, you have bursts of absolute brilliance, and I just don’t understand it.” The bandicoot stuck his tongue out, his eyes crossing slightly. Neo groaned. “And most of the time, you’re a complete dolt.” Crash made a sound which suggested he’d taken that remark as a compliment. Neo shook his head and turned to face Aku Aku. “I understand the concern, but look at me!” He swept his hands downward; he was shirtless and barefoot, sun-scorched and utterly exhausted. “Everything I have, everything that _could_ cause any problems, is back at the Castle! _Which we can’t enter!_ ” He glanced over at Azraphael and Ellie, his expression betraying his feelings of hopelessness at that moment. “What’s worse, is that we don’t even know where that infernal fruit bowl could be, or what’ll happen next because of it!”

“Alright, so we ask Kupuna-Wa, and prepare any defenses we can in case the bowl shows up.” This suggestion was delivered by Tawna, who was given stunned and perplexed looks from just about everyone in the group. “What? It’s really the only logical course of action at this point. If N. Tr-, err, Simon dies before getting himself to the future, the timeline will collapse, or worse.” She faced him, then, her icy blue eyes glinting in the light of the fire. Her expression was mostly unreadable, but something in her seemed to have softened. When she next spoke, her voice lacked its initial hard edge. “I still don’t fully trust you, and I probably never will, but I’m not too proud to understand when we have to work together for the greater good.”

“Wonderful,” Azraphael mused, turning the boar again. Their smile was tight, almost unnatural, and their posture was rigid. The pink ridges atop their head seemed to move up and down, and their bioluminescent markings flickered a few times. They looked off into the darkness of the jungle, their lip slightly raised, showing some of their teeth. “We’re to stay here tonight,” they finally said, turning back to the group. “Right here. All of us.”

“What’s wrong?” Ellie reached out to them, gently grabbing the hem of their robe, and giving it a small tug. The Angel looked down at her silently. “Is it Uka Uka?”

“No,” they growled, the burgundy tendrils holding their arms together wiggling slightly in agitation. “Not him. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it…and I especially don’t like the idea of anyone straying from the group tonight.”

“Dr. Gilman,” Nitrus piped up. “D-do you still have your d-device? The relic m-might have turned up again.”

“I do! Brilliant suggestion, Dr. Brio!” She leaned over, stretching to retrieve her bag. Pulling it across the sand, she removed the device, briefly inspecting it. “Thankfully, it was covered when…well…you know.” This got a shudder out of Nitrus and Nolan. Neither of them would ever forget the sensation, or the _smell_ , of being plunged into the dark, acrid goop and spat out the other side. Nolan, however, was just thankful to _not_ be stuck in the walls anymore. Ellie turned a few dials and watched the screen; Tawna and Coco scooted closer to her, leaning over to see what would happen. A few long, tense minutes later, Ellie put the device down, frowning.

“Anything there?” Nitrus asked. His eyes darted about frantically, almost as though he was half-expecting something to grab him from behind.

“Well…” Ellie took in a deep breath, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “How do I put this gently? Nothing of an arcane nature is showing up – not even Aku Aku.”

“A-are you sure it didn’t just get damaged from the…slime?” Nolan forced a nervous laugh, and his good eye betrayed the fear building up inside of him. A thin trickle of black smoke spilled from his rocket. Simon, then realizing how close he was to the edge of the jungle, moved closer to the fire, and ultimately felt a little safer.

“Positive,” Ellie nodded once. “I checked it before we left the Castle’s shores.” She picked it up again, getting to her feet, and began pacing around the fire. She stayed close at first, and even held it up right next to Aku Aku, but still had no success. Then, she edged further away from the group, eventually walking maybe ten feet down the path into the jungle, and around the hut. When she returned, she smiled warmly, assuaging some of the group’s fears. However, Simon noticed a certain gleam in her eyes when she looked at Azraphael, and for the briefest moment, her expression hardened, then returned to normal. “I think we’re just worked up from all the excitement of the day. In fact, it’s likely the device just got wet while we were going from island to island. I’ll give it some time to dry, then try again tomorrow.” Simon decided against saying anything about it, but somehow, he was absolutely certain that Ellie was lying, and Azraphael was hiding something.

“So, we’re okay?” Nolan had pulled his knees up to his chest, and was hugging them fiercely. Ellie nodded to this, and gave him a reassuring pat on the head. He sighed in relief, letting go of his legs, and fell back into the sand. “Have you guys ever noticed how pretty the stars are out here?” This grabbed everyone’s attention; they first looked at the little cyborg, then up to the night sky. “We got pretty lucky to have this view…and I think, for the first time, I’m getting to appreciate it.”

Just like that, all the fear and tension had melted away, and everyone was sprawled out on the beach, gazing up at the stars. At Simon’s request, Azraphael lifted him gently from his chair, and allowed him to join the others. They laid next to him, only getting up every so often to rotate the boar. Their spine-crowned head nearly touched his, they were so close. He fancied he could hear a faint hum coming from their throat, but couldn’t be sure. At one point, he caught himself staring at their thin lips, and wanted desperately to kiss them – human form or not, they were beautiful to him. He almost looked away, when Azraphael turned their head to face him. They smiled softly, causing him to blush. He was convinced that they knew what he was thinking, but instead of calling him out on it, they took his hand in theirs, lacing their fingers with his own.

“Are you more interested in looking at the stars, or at me?” A small chortle came out of them, and their smile broadened.

“I don’t see much of a difference between the two. You are as the stars – beautiful, radiant, and mysterious.” Simon had blurted this out without thinking; something about the Angel made him want to wear his heart on his sleeve, if only just for them. His face flushed even hotter, and he snapped his mouth shut. Azraphael’s smile widened even further; they showed their teeth, and Simon felt no fear of them whatsoever. He noticed a faint blue glow touching the areas of their “mask” which covered most of their cheeks, and could have sworn they were leaning closer. With his free hand, he reached over and brushed his fingers delicately against their jaw. Now he was certain they were getting closer, or that he was unconsciously moving towards them.

“Simon…” they breathed, their grin fading fast. They were about to say more, but Simon mustered up his courage and closed the gap. The sensation was positively electrifying. Azraphael’s lips were cool and slightly tough; the taste of honey and juniper was far stronger than before. The two sighed softly, leaning into one another, letting the kiss linger for as long as they could. It was Azraphael who pulled away, but with a great, visible reluctance. “I L- err…I think the boar is done.” They swept themself up off the sand, and tended to the group’s dinner. Grabbing the bandicoots’ attention, they requested plates, utensils, and some fruits to pair with the meat. They got right to it, and in no time at all, the boar was carved up, and everyone was digging in. The meat was tender and smoky, and the fruits – wumpas, of course – were ripened to perfection.

Neo sidled up to Simon, giving him a playful nudge and waggling his eyebrows. Simon jumped slightly, not realizing how much he’d been lost in his thoughts. “You’ve certainly gotten bolder since our Academy days, wouldn’t you say?” Simon nearly choked on a bite of fruit; he would have yelled at Neo, but that would have made it worse. The little yellow man laughed and shook his head. “Sorry, sorry…I just so happened to see your little exchange. I never imagined you to be the romantic type.”

“Heh…neither did I.” Simon flushed, poking at his cut of boar with his fork. He felt a sudden gnawing sensation on the back of his head – it was like the feeling of being watched. He glanced over his shoulder; there was nothing to be seen, but he swore he heard a rustling in the ferns, just beyond the light of the fire.

“Anyway,” Neo said, grabbing his attention again. The feeling was still there, but weaker. “I support it.” Simon was taken aback by this, prompting Neo to continue. “I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re with them. Even when we were teenagers – even though I teased you pretty relentlessly about it – I saw it, and I was all for it. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Thank you, Neo…that actually means quite a lot to me.” A smile touched Simon’s lips, and he looked to the Angel; they were seated between Ellie and Tawna, chatting with them between bites of meat and fruit. His heart swelled once more, and he found himself unable to stop smiling as he observed them. Neo was right – despite the circumstances, he’d never been happier.


	16. Trouble Ahead

Shortly after eating, Aku Aku suggested that everyone try to sleep. This was, however, underlined with the fact that he and Azraphael would keep watch over the camp for the night. Despite the previous fears and tensions of the evening, each member of the unusual group was able to get comfortable. The bandicoots all curled up close to one another, and the N-Team followed suit. Nitrus, Nolan and Neo slept near to one another in a sort of pile, and Ellie remained close to them. Simon insisted on staying as close to the fire as he could without hurting himself. He still felt that gnawing sensation in the back of his skull, and was convinced that, whatever was out there in the jungle, it was watching _him_ specifically. He tossed and turned for most of the night, not dreaming, but nevertheless having a hard time staying asleep. Upon waking up one of the six or seven times throughout the night, he caught a small piece of a conversation between Azraphael and Aku Aku.

“If it must happen,” Aku Aku said, his voice grave. “I won’t interfere.”

“Thank you,” Azraphael replied, sounding somewhat despondent. “I only wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“I can imagine. You’ve already done much to keep him safe, and at your own expense, too.”

Azraphael laughed at this, but it was with a disingenuous tone. “My friend, you have no idea. This may cost all the progress we’ve made thus far, and we may never get it back.” They paused, then sniffed. “I’ll be lucky if I’m ever forgiven.” Aku Aku had nothing to say to this, and the conversation ended there. Simon, uneasy and growing afraid once more, struggled to get back to sleep.

The next morning, he awoke to Sahl’resh sitting cross-legged next to him. He was humming something by Bach, and staring intently at Simon’s broken leg. When he noticed he was being watched, he smiled warmly at the scientist. The Healer’s eyes seemed to glint and flicker with an artificial light.

“Ah! Good morning!” He greeted Simon cheerily, offering him a hand to sit up. Simon took it, unsure of what to expect. He knew Sahl’resh had been called to – hopefully – finish the job with his fractured femur, but he held a certain amount of guilt within his heart for kissing the other man’s Lover. Of course, he remembered Azraphael’s explanation of having many Loves, but it didn’t help when he had no idea what Sahl’resh thought of him, or if he knew of his advances towards the Angel.

“G-good morning,” Simon muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He glanced around at the beach – they were the only two there. “Where is everyone?”

“Your friends, and err, enemies?, have gone to wash up at a nearby spring.” He paused, taking a moment to read Simon’s expression further. “And Azraphael has gone to see the Council. They’re the organization responsible for agents like us.”

“I remember Uriel mentioning a Council when he visited us.” To this, the other man barked a sarcastic laugh. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all. It’s just that Uriel is sometimes difficult to deal with.” He paused, taking a moment to consider his next words. “Of course, I Love the man dearly, but he has a hard time letting go of old grudges.” He turned his attention back to Simon’s leg, leaning over it and studying it carefully. “I see you’ve been careful with it. That’s excellent – I do believe I should have you back on your feet soon.” He placed both hands carefully on Simon’s thigh, beginning to focus his energy. A jolt of electricity shot into his leg, and Simon did his best to remain silent. His jaw clenched and his teeth ground together; this was far more unpleasant than the last time, perhaps only because he didn’t have morphine to block out the pain. Sahl’resh noticed his discomfort, and gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, it won’t take but twenty minutes to finish this. I have to go slow, or it’ll botch the process.”

“I-I have something to tell you,” Simon blurted out. His vision blurred, the pain was becoming so great. He snapped his eyes shut, forcing himself to remain calm. His heart pounded so hard, he could feel it in his throat.

“I already know.” At this, Simon’s eyes shot opened, and he met the other’s with no small amount of trepidation. Once more, Sahl’resh gave him a warm, reassuring smile, which slightly melted the icy fear threatening to overtake him. “In fact, I’ve known for quite some time…but, as you know, Time is almost always relative.” Simon wasn’t sure if he should be relieved by Sahl’resh’s understanding, or afraid that the Healer might choose to cripple him right then and there. “If you were wondering, no, I don’t have a problem with it.” At that, Simon’s shoulders slumped in relief – he hadn’t even noticed how tense they’d been. “In fact, I’m all for it.” Simon’s heart skipped a beat and swelled; he hadn’t realized before just how much he’d wanted the approval of at least one of Azraphael’s Loves. “However, I should probably warn you…” This made Simon tense up again, and his heart clenched, ready to receive bad news. “Azraphael is the kind of person that takes many centuries to fully understand – and that’s only if you’re _extremely_ close to them. If not, it’ll take billions of years.”

“That’s it?” Simon laughed nervously, which earned him a look from the Healer that told him he had no idea what the Hell he was saying. “I honestly thought you were going to tell me I’d never be able to understand them, let alone have a chance at being with them.” He considered this for a moment, letting his own words sink in. The last time he actually thought of having a real relationship with Azraphael was when he was a teenager, and he was under the impression that they were mostly normal, with the exception of being a Shifter. He searched for them for over a century after learning how to manipulate and travel through Time, and had given up when it all seemed hopeless. However, there was always a nagging voice deep in his heart that told him to keep holding on, to keep waiting for the day that he’d see the Angel again. When he’d met his counterpart, he jumped on the opportunity to let go of Azraphael completely, but his heart had inevitably remained true to his first Love.

“Oh, you definitely have a chance,” Sahl’resh replied, his focus returning to Simon’s leg. Simon was abruptly pulled away from his contemplations, but the impressions lingered. “But you’re not going to get there overnight. It might seem simple now, to get close to them, and express your affections…but it won’t always be this way. You’re going to face challenges with that, and starting rather soon, might I add.” He stopped himself there, mumbling that he’d said too much, and refused to speak on the issue again, much to Simon’s dismay. In vain, he attempted to get the Healer to say something – _anything_ – more about it. He was desperate to know what may await him in a future he’d not yet explored, but the other man remained silent.

When Sahl’resh had determined that Simon’s leg was fully healed, he helped the scientist to his feet. Holding on to his arm for support, Simon followed his lead slowly around the ring of the previous night’s fire, getting used to walking again. The two worked their way up and down the beach, and only stopped when the pulverized vertebrae in Simon’s lower back began to scream at him. He’d asked Sahl’resh if there was truly nothing that could be done about it, and the other replied in the negative. Should he attempt to rectify it by means of an implant, or any other cybernetic enhancements, he had a 98% chance of paralyzing himself from the waist down. Although this was disheartening, he resolved to stick to the original course of action: walking with a cane for the rest of his life. It stung his pride a great deal, but he was sure he could still make the best of the situation.

“Hold still,” Sahl’resh commanded, keeping one hand on Simon’s shoulder, and pressing his other palm into his back. In an instant, the pain that threatened to overtake him was gone. He glanced around at the Healer in astonishment. “I’ve blocked the nerves; it’ll last for maybe a day, so long as you don’t overexert yourself. However, we need to keep you up and moving about!” He took Simon by the elbows and pulled him back up to his feet again. His legs wobbled, already exhausted by the exercise. Sahl’resh extended an arm, and Simon watched in amazement as the cane from Azraphael – which was lying on the sand about twenty feet away – flew right into his hand. “Here,” he said, handing over the stick. “You should start getting used to this.”

“Thank you, Sahl’resh…for everything.” He was incredulous, hardly able to process what he’d just seen, but was still able to express his sincerest gratitude.

“Again, I say, no need to thank me. It’s my job. And for that matter, I Love my job.” He gave the scientist a firm clap on the shoulder, and a bright smile. “What do you say we get you to that spring? I’m sure you’ll feel even better after a dip.”

“Yes, that does sound nice,” he paused, cut off by the sudden opening of one of Azraphael’s portals. The person emerging from it, however, was utterly foreign to him.

“Ah!” Sahl’resh cried, his smile growing brighter. “My Darling Amon, the gentle giant of Cairo!” He paused only to make sure Simon was able to support himself with the cane, and when satisfied, rushed into the arms of the tall, swarthy, handsome being. He wasted no time in sweeping the other into a loving embrace, and laying on kiss after passionate kiss to their full, dark lips. “Oh, what’s this?” Sahl’resh mused, and popped open one of the buttons on their flowing white garment. They lifted an eyebrow at him in amusement, and shook their head with a chuckle. “You had _three_ open buttons.”

“Are you sure?” When they spoke, their voice was deep and rich, and held a heavy Arabic accent. “Or do you just want to get me out of this robe again?”

“Why not both?” Sahl’resh ran a teasing hand down the other’s chest. He sighed dreamily, stopping at their navel. “I take it you’re off for _that_ , then. Too bad…I’ll just have to get you alone another time.”

“Yes, I am. Will you be able to look after Simon and the others for me while I’m gone? I shouldn’t be more than a day.” They paused, giving Sahl’resh a seductive grin, their honey-colored eyes glazing over. “And you shouldn’t be teasing me just now, habibi. Not when I have to hold myself back from you for a while longer.” Realizing he’d just witnessed a rather intimate exchange between Sahl’resh and Azraphael, Simon flushed and turned his gaze away. This was partly out of wanting to give them space, but he’d be lying through his teeth if he tried to say he wasn’t envious of the Healer.

“Maybe I just want you to squirm a little before then.” He laughed in spite of himself. “Of course, I can keep an eye on everyone. Now, go on! Go be strong and handsome, sweep me off my feet, and steal away with me into the night!”

“Don’t worry, I plan on it.” Azraphael chuckled again, and walked over to Simon. He gazed up at them, finding himself once again in transfixed by their beauty; he was sure that they took on forms based upon what people liked, but from what he’d seen so far, he loved them all. They opened their mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After looking him up and down, they resigned to pulling him into a gentle embrace. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” When they finally found their voice, it was small, if not timid. He couldn’t be sure, but he sensed a bit of guilt resonating from them. “Be safe, my dear.” With that, they left him with a gentle kiss on his cheek, and made their way through another portal to who-knows-where. Simon watched them go, a growing feeling of unease settling in his chest. His mind went back to the snippet of conversation he’d overheard between the Angel and Aku Aku.

“I wonder what that was about…?” He muttered this under his breath, mostly to himself, but wasn’t surprised when Sahl’resh answered.

“They’re hopping around Timelines right now, and they just so happen to be the Angel that assisted me in _my_ Deciding Life.” The Healer gave him an apologetic smile, a deep crimson touching his pale cheeks. “Sorry you had to see that. ‘Amon’ has always been one of my favorites of the forms they take.”

“I-it’s quite alright,” Simon cleared his throat, flushing a little. He’d nearly forgotten his brief surge of envy while thinking over Azraphael’s recent change in demeanor. He had to remind himself that the Angel was open and honest about their relationships, and that he wasn’t even one of them, yet. “I err, I was just thinking about what’s been going on with them. They’ve been acting differently since last night, and I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Sahl’resh’s grin faded, then, and his expression turned solemn. “Simon,” he said, locking eyes with the scientist. “Angels like Azraphael – those who have the stomach to take on Soul-saving missions – are privy to vast amounts of information that will help them complete said missions, but they are not at liberty to share such knowledge freely. I don’t know what could be bothering them, but whatever it is, it’s likely something that will hurt you.” Simon attempted to respond to this, but Sahl’resh held up a hand, silencing him. “I’m sorry – I can’t speak on it further. I don’t know what they know.”

“Well, _that’s_ comforting,” Simon nearly snapped, his brow knitting together in a combination of worry and irritation. He tested his ability to walk with the cane, finding it to be awkward, if not uncomfortable. With no small amount of reluctance, he allowed Sahl’resh to guide him down the path into the jungle. They passed by the N-Team, Ellie, and the bandicoots on their way to the spring; everyone looked lively and refreshed, especially his old friends. They were actually cracking jokes, and carrying on friendly conversations with their former enemies. He gave them all an uneasy smile, and exchanged a few pleasantries before going along his way. It was only Aku Aku who appeared to have any idea that something was amiss. He stared Simon down with an unreadable expression, and said nothing before floating off with the rest of the group. With a heavier and heavier sensation settling in his chest, he moved on towards the spring.

The crystal pool wasn’t far, and was well-concealed by ferns off the beaten path. Sahl’resh left him with a simple change of clothes, and a promise that he wouldn’t be far off, should his assistance be required. Simon decided to take his time, beginning to test his limits with being able to sit and stand on his own. He sat at the edge of the spring, sliding his aching legs into the water. It was delightfully crisp, despite the quickly rising heat and humidity. As he relaxed, he began removing the rest of his bandages, relieved to have the rest of his torso exposed to the open air. The makeshift splint strapped to his thigh came off as well, giving him an odd sensation of freedom. Satisfied with his progress thus far, he struggled back to his feet, intent on undressing and cleaning himself up.

“ _Nefarious…_ ” A shrill whisper echoed around the clearing – or perhaps it was only in his mind – and Simon stopped cold. His blood turned to ice; his heart stopped for a few agonizing seconds, then began racing uncontrollably. “ _Nefarious…!_ ” The voice was louder this time, yet somehow sounded both nearer and further away. Something knocked into his ankle, and he jumped along with his heart. Looking down, it took all of his willpower to keep himself from falling into a dead faint. Instead, he fell to his knees and became violently sick in the lush grass. Lady N. Tropy’s helmet, with the tiny tuning fork crest caked in dried blood, had been deposited at his side. He clutched at his hair, nearly strong enough to rip some of it out, and was assaulted with vision after terrible vision of those final moments of his deathmatch with her. All of the turbulent emotions he’d worked so hard to squash came rushing back in one unstoppable wave.

He was beside himself in the agonizing throes of grief, remorse, and self-loathing for what he’d had to do. Hot tears streaked down his face one after the other, and showed no signs of stopping. In vain, he tried to fight back the voice that was now shrieking his old name from all sides, and the endlessly repeating memory of slamming his counterpart’s head into the ground. He dragged himself over to the spring; splashing the cool water on his face wasn’t enough to help, so he turned to slapping himself over and over again, until he could feel new bruises beginning to form. Then, he stopped abruptly, looking down into the pool in a mixed state of wonder, and horror. There was his counterpart, eyes closed, hair floating serenely in the ripples of the water. She appeared not to have changed at all, and looked as though she were only sleeping.

“Nefaria?!” Simon gasped, clutching at his heart. He nearly reached into the water to see if he could touch her, if she were truly there, but stopped himself when she opened her eyes. They were vacant black pits, radiating an aura of the purest, most vile hatred any one person was capable of. Her face became gaunt and pale, a mocking shadow if its former, healthy and vibrant shape. In a flash, her arm shot out of the water, and her hand squeezed itself around his neck, cutting off his breath in a single, murderous attack. With one swift pull, she dragged Simon down into the water, and before long, he lost consciousness.


	17. A Terrible Reunion

Simon’s consciousness returned slowly; it faded in and out, giving him only the faintest idea of what was happening to him. The first sensation he’d registered was that of being dragged on his back, pulled by his ankle, across a gritty, molten ground. The next, was the pain that accompanied his cooking flesh. The third, however, was the firm, icy grip on his ankle, and how his captor pulled him along in short, jerky movements, as though they were using all their strength to haul him. In one lapse of consciousness, he struggled against his abductor, only to earn himself a swift kick in the head, which knocked him back out. When he awoke again, he was relieved to find himself out of the inferno, and lying on a cool obsidian floor. This momentary comfort was abruptly cut short by the horrifying realization of his surroundings – he was back in Pandaemonium, in the massive central chamber in which he’d had his first meeting with the Devil.

He stood as fast as he was able, but found that his legs were still weak, and Sahl’resh’s healing touch had worn off, leaving him with a screaming pain resonating in his lower back. He staggered, wincing and clenching his jaw, and found support in one of the monolithic statues that lined the perimeter of the chamber. Glancing up at it, he wasn’t completely sure of what it was meant to represent, but judging by its vicious snarl, and spiked mace, his guess was the Sin of Wrath. His attention was drawn from the statue by the sound of bare feet padding along the smooth floor. He looked, and his first instinct was to run; instead, he screamed, retreating until he was pressed flush up against the leg of the statue.

“Oh, I’ll give you _plenty_ of reasons to scream…just you wait!” Nefaria was approaching him. Her vacant eye sockets continued to radiate that same black hatred that Simon had seen in the spring. Despite having no eyes, he could feel her gaze boring into his Soul. Her pallid skin clung tightly to her emaciated frame, giving her a downright skeletal appearance. Tattered rags hung loosely about her body, making her seem as though she were more of a specter than a being of flesh and bone. She walked with a terrible limp, yet still with the strength of one who was driven by determination. When she stopped, she was perhaps only six feet away from him. She breathed heavily, like one who had just done a great amount of work; her shoulders rose and fell harder with each breath, and her glare turned more murderous with each passing second.

Simon found himself at a complete loss for words; he was torn between wanting to run away and not look back, and wanting to fall down and weep. In his heart, he knew that she’d locked him in a kill-or-be-killed situation, and he’d been given no choice for the sake of his survival. However, seeing her again, and in such a miserable state – and discovering she’d been condemned to Hell, no less – he couldn’t deny the crushing grip of guilt which threatened to overtake him. Whether he was right to blame himself or not, he had put her where she was.

“Tell me, ‘ _Simon_ ,’” she snapped, causing him to jump. All the poisons and venoms in the world couldn’t match her voice. “Are you familiar with ‘Doctor Faustus’ by Christopher Marlowe?”

“What? Y-yes?” This caught him by surprise. His heart had jumped into his throat, and almost felt as though it would pop out of his mouth at any given moment. “T-the play, right?”

“Oh, yes. And do you remember what happened at the _end_ of the play?” The skin around her eye sockets tightened, giving him the impression that she was scrutinizing him. He shook his head, afraid of the answer. She barked a sardonic laugh at this. “You know? The part where Faustus was _dragged down to Hell while still alive?!_ ” She shrieked those last words, feigning a lunge towards him, making him scream again. He flinched hard, throwing his arms up in defense. When no attack came, he forced himself to look back at Nefaria, who was clenching and unclenching her fists. “Do you have _any_ idea what you’ve done?! Any clue at all what sort of misery you’ve put me in?! Do you know how long an Earth-day is in Hell?! _IT’S A FUCKING DECADE!!_ ” She closed the gap between them, clutching his twin beards and pulling him down to eye-level with her. “You’re so much of a God damned failure, you couldn’t even kill me properly! And while you got to have the tender care of Angels, _I was brought down here!!_ ”

“ _You were dead!_ ” Simon shouted back at her, refusing to believe what was happening. “You stopped breathing, your skull was shattered, _I know you were dead!!_ ”

“ _WRONG!!!_ ” She let go of his beards and shoved him back into the leg of the statue. This disturbed his injured vertebrae immensely, and he dropped to his knees, biting his lip hard to stop himself from wailing in pain. “I was grabbed at the last minute by Satan’s lapdog, Erryll, and brought here to be revived,” Nefaria continued, beginning to saunter away from him. “Imagine my surprise, ‘Simon,’ when I awoke to… _this_.” She made a theatrical sweeping gesture with both arms. “Fully healed, except without my eyes. It’s funny, though…down here, I don’t need them to see.” She spun around on her heel, facing him again. Her murderous glare became downright sinister; the corners of her lips twitched upwards, giving her a teeth-baring sneer. “And imagine my surprise when I got to watch you practically salivate like some starved dog over that _thing_ that calls itself an Angel!”

“Leave Azraphael out of this!” Simon snapped his head back up to glare at the ghost of his counterpart. She delivered a savage kick to his chest, knocking the wind out of him, and silencing him once more.

“Ah, yes! _That’s_ the beast’s name!” Nefaria cackled, beginning to pace back and forth in front of him. “Don’t bother trying to explain yourself – Satan was gracious enough to tell, and _show_ me everything. Not only do you disappoint me, ‘Simon,’ you downright _disgust_ me.” She knelt before him, snatching a fistful of his hair and forcing him to look at her. He let out a small, pathetic whine, giving her cause to smile at his pain. “It all makes sense, now…you could flirt and suggest and tease all you wanted, but could never bring yourself to follow through. And here I thought you were just being a gentleman. Ha!” She let go of him, but not without a violent thrust, making his forehead smack the floor. A small trickle of blood flowed down his face, staining the obsidian with its vibrant crimson hue. “You couldn’t even bring yourself to use me as a proper rebound – albeit over a Love that was _never_ yours to begin with – and I couldn’t be more thankful for it. But still, I hate you all the more for leading me on.”

“What do you _want_ from me, Nefaria?!” Simon, finding his voice again, couldn’t hide the guilt and shame welling up in his chest. “Do you want a confession?! Fine! Yes! It was _always_ Azraphael, and it always will be!” His own words took him by surprise. He’d never imagined he’d speak his heart aloud to her, regardless of the circumstances.

“I don’t give a shit.” She waved a hand dismissively, turning away from him once more. Her shoulders slumped, and a long, low sigh escaped her. “You were never worth the trouble, anyway.”

“Then why have you brought me here?” Mustering up all of his strength, he held onto the statue to help him stand again. “If not to interrogate me, to pump me for information, or to torment me with my own guilt, why?”

“Do you _really_ have the capacity to feel guilty?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. Her expression was utterly unreadable. “Then allow me to enlighten you on something you should know about your darling ‘Angel.’ They had a choice as to which one of us they would save, and they chose _you_. They knew _exactly_ what would happen to me, should they take you under their wing instead of myself, and allowed it to happen without a second thought.” She paused, considering her next words. “They made an agreement with Satan – Archangel Michael was there to oversee the exchange – and they deliberately allowed me to fall victim to centuries of torment. At least, down here, it’s been that long. On Earth, it’s been roughly two weeks, right? Or has it been three? I’ve had such a terrible time keeping track of Time while I’ve undergone the tortures of Hell.” Her voice cracked during that last sentence, and a note of desperation entered. “If you’ve ever Loved me, even the smallest bit, then kill me, and do it _right_ this time! Leave no room for error!”

“I _did_ Love you,” Simon confessed, fighting back the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He thought of Azraphael in that moment, and had to bite back a surge of vicious rage. How could they let this happen? How could they, an Angel of _Mercy_ , have allowed someone to suffer so terribly? He let go of the statue, and began moving towards his counterpart. “But you tried to kill me…”

“I was overcome with anger!” She cried, whirling around to face him fully, and sunk her fingers into her voluminous hair. Her expression had lost its hate entirely. Hot tears streamed down her face, giving her the look of a woman who was at her wit’s end. “I blamed you for our loss, and acted entirely on a spur of the moment feeling!”

“Bravo, well done!” A new voice echoed throughout the massive chamber. Simon looked past Nefaria, and watched as Satan sauntered towards the two versions of the infamous Dr. N. Tropy. He was clapping slowly, a smug grin plastered on his pale, beautiful face. Nefaria gave a small yelp of despair, and staggered closer to Simon. Unconsciously, he took her in his arms, his heart squeezing itself painfully at the realization of her panic, and her total emaciation. A sour note touched his heart as he felt a twinge of just how much she’d been made to suffer. “And here I thought I’d not have the opportunity to shed further light upon the situation at hand.”

“Let us go!” Simon shouted defiantly at the Devil, his arms tightening around Nefaria’s scant shoulders. She sunk into him, reaching behind her to hold on to his torso. Her fear radiated from her like the heat of a fire. “She’s not dead, and neither of us should be here!”

“Should you not?” Satan mused, his smile broadening. He stopped several feet away from the pair, and chuckled quietly. “Oh, my dear prodigy…you have no real idea of what is happening. I _could_ enlighten you, you know?”

“Save it! And _stop_ calling me your ‘prodigy!’” Simon backed away, pulling Nefaria with him. She didn’t refuse, but was breathing rapidly, becoming lost in a state of extreme panic. “Let us go!”

“No, I don’t think I will. Not yet at least.” The Devil laughed, his sheer malice breaking through his otherwise nonchalant visage. His honeyed voice, sweet and smooth, was enough to give Simon a pause to listen to his words. It didn’t help that the glittering rubies of his eyes were so mesmerizing, they could break down even the strongest of mental barriers. “Come here, Nefaria,” he commanded of Simon’s counterpart. She, with no small amount of reluctance, released herself from his grip and moved towards Satan. He took her roughly in his arms, and wrenched her head back by the hair, forcing her to stare directly into his face. He then smashed his lips to hers, eliciting a cry of mixed terror and delight from her. Upon releasing her, he shoved her aside, letting her fall to her knees. “Such a pity,” Satan said, feigning sadness. “Such a pity that one so full of vigor could be so easily broken. No matter…I will find a way to make her worthy!”

The King of Lies paced back and forth, carefully studying Simon’s face. Simon was stuck in a whirlwind of confusion – he glanced back and forth between his counterpart and the Devil, unsure of what to make of the situation. The uncertainty was broken when Nefaria spoke up. “I’ve done what you asked! I’ve brought him here for your counsel! Now uphold your end of the bargain! _EITHER KILL ME OR LET ME GO!!!_ ” Simon stared at her incredulously, hardly able to make sense of what he was hearing.

“It is true,” Satan said nonchalantly, “that I required both of you to be here at this moment. However, that doesn’t mean I’m inclined to release either one of you.”

“ _WE HAD A DEAL, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!_ ” Nefaria was on her feet in an instant, and rounded on Satan with such hatred and determination as Simon had never seen in her before. “ _I BROUGHT HIM HERE!!! LET ME GO!!! SEND ME BACK TO EARTH!!!_ ”

“No.” Satan pressed a hand to Nefaria’s forehead, and sent her sprawling backwards. After hitting the floor, she scooted herself back, until she was pressed against another one of the statues of the Seven Deadly Sins. It was of a woman, with unearthly beauty and scantily clad, and with a dagger gripped firmly in her left hand. “I’m going to make everything as plain and as clear as possible,” the Devil said as he returned his focus to Simon. “As you surely remember from our last meeting, I’m not restricted from giving information.”

“I don’t want to hear it!” This was a bold-faced lie, and Simon knew it. His unnaturally long life spent as a scientist, and as a collector of knowledge, made him want to uncover as many secrets as he could.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Satan sighed, shaking his head morosely. “That’s something I’ll have to educate you on. But really…listen to me.”

Simon’s gaze moved rapidly between the Devil and Nefaria. The latter kept her head down, and was curled up in a pathetic ball, hugging her knees as close as she could. He couldn’t deny how he felt a sense of betrayal emanating from her, or the sensation of his own black hatred welling up in his breast. His realization of her betrayal, and feigning of her emotions made him long to slide a knife across her treacherous throat. In the end, he glared at Satan, practically challenging him to continue. “What is it?” He finally said, his voice carrying a cold, hard edge to it, which he’d not heard since before his near-defeat at the hands of Nefaria. Against his better judgment, he was ready and willing to listen. “Speak up, or let me go.”

“Oh, there’s plenty to say.” Satan chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”


	18. Revelations

The Devil paced back and forth, stroking his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. Simon nearly yelled at him to hurry up and speak, but Satan merely smiled at him, causing him to drop his initial impatience. Then, he glared at Nefaria, who was curled in on herself on the other side of the room, sobbing. He found himself wishing she would drop dead, and had to turn away from her, lest he be moved to kill her himself.

“As I’m sure you remember,” the King of Demons said abruptly, snapping Simon out of his thoughts of cold-blooded murder. The two locked eyes, and Satan moved closer. “There’s a lot of history between your Angel and myself, far too much to give a full account of it. I know almost everything there is to know about them, and I know you’re _burning_ with questions.” He gave Simon a sweet smile, but his eyes, no matter how beautiful and mesmerizing, could never hide the total hatred he held for Azraphael whenever speaking of them. “Well?” He chuckled, clasping his hands behind his back. “Are you going to stand there staring, or are you going to ask me something? I’ll answer everything to the best of my ability.”

“Why do you keep calling me your prodigy?” Simon blurted out without thinking about it. As much as he wanted to know more about Azraphael – and whether or not he should really put his trust in them – he couldn’t deny his total confusion as to the Devil’s choice term for him. “I’ve not thought about it too much until now, but now I want to know.”

“Ah! I knew you’d come around to that eventually.” With a flick of his wrist, Satan summoned a gilded scroll; it hovered next to him, and opened to reveal intricate illustrations, which all seemed to flow together to tell a story. Upon looking closer, Simon realized it was a miniature version of one of the tapestries hanging between the statues. “This,” the Devil announced, “is an account of the Celestial War. Look here.” He gestured to the first image; there were two beings, one black and one white, and they each had an army of similar-looking creatures behind them. “My mother turned against my father for his tyranny, and led those faithful to her into battle. I fought for her…she’d put it in my head that _I_ would be a better ruler than my father, and convinced me to turn my back on him. She promised me power and glory, and I _did_ get it, just not in the way I’d imagined.” He moved his hand a few pictures down; it was of an Angel striking another down, and Satan held a distinct note of disgust in his voice when next he spoke. “This is the moment Archangel Michael delivered the blow that cast me down into the Abyss. It’s also,” his voice lightened again, and his grin widened. “The moment in which _you_ came into Existence.”

“What do you mean?” Simon was taken aback. He studied the image carefully, but couldn’t find anything that fit in with what the Devil was saying.

“You see, when a Soul is damaged badly enough, it will fragment.” He pointed to another image further down; there were two beings, one of which appeared to be Satan as he is now, and the other was of a scared and confused man with dark, curly hair, and grey wings. “Fragments will eventually develop into full-fledged Souls, should they not be reunited with their whole selves for a long enough time. Michael hit me hard enough to fragment me…and here you are, Icarus!” He flicked his wrist again, snapping the scroll shut, and making it vanish. “You were hidden from me for _eons_ , and I’ve finally found you. Finally! After trillions of years of searching, scheming…hehe… _slaughtering_ my way through the Multiverse…I’ve found you.” For the briefest instant, Simon felt the sharp pang of fear that told him he was about to die. Seeing this, Satan laughed heartily. “No, no! I don’t want to _kill_ you! All this time, I’ve wanted to _welcome_ you, to have you rule by my side!” He waved an arm towards the long table stretched across the far side of the room. To be more precise, he was gesturing to the throne in the center, and the slightly smaller one to its right. “I’ve been watching you throughout your current mortal incarnation, and I couldn’t be more impressed with your potential.”

“And what of Azraphael?” Simon cut him off before he had the chance to say anything more about his grandiose ideas, although he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least somewhat interested in the Devil’s proposal. He would need to take some time to process everything he’d just learned, but at the moment, he was fixated on the Angel that had rescued him. He was completely torn; part of him wanted to spit in the Devil’s eye and denounce him completely, while another, much stronger part of him wanted to gather as much information as he could. The scientist in him just wouldn’t quit.

“What _about_ them?!” It was Nefaria who spoke, giving Simon a start. Upon looking at her again, he once more felt that ugly desire to kill her. What’s worse, is that he relished it. “They let me suffer! They let you believe I was dead!”

“And if you don’t shut up, I’ll make you suffer even more!” Simon took a step forward, intent on grabbing the first object he could find in order to beat her brains in, but Satan held him back, and made him avert his gaze from Nefaria.

“She has a point, Icarus,” the Devil patted his back gently, offering him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t you see how much grief they’ve caused you? First, they deceived you, making you think they were just another student, and allowed you go on having feelings for them. Then, they _abandoned_ you at the Academy, after flat out telling you why they’d gone there in the first place – to shut it down, to help the kids!” He swiveled around, fully facing Simon, and took him by the shoulders. The two locked eyes, and Simon couldn’t stop himself from looking at those glinting rubies. “They allowed you to remain utterly _obsessed_ with your goal of finding them again, and, if I may be so bold as to say…it _ruined_ you.” He gave a dramatic sigh and tossed his hair, moving away from Simon before continuing. “If not for their interference, you could have actually had a chance at leading a normal life after graduating. A small chance, I admit, but a chance nonetheless.”

The weight of Satan’s words was beginning to sink in, and Simon felt sick to his stomach. He’d never considered it before; Azraphael had always been an actor, and was capable of pretending to be anyone in order to complete their missions. As Sahl’resh had implied, not many Angels had the stomach to save Souls, and he was beginning to understand why that was. He thought back to that fateful night on the Academy’s rooftop, and regretted his decision to open his heart. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself wishing he’d never done it, but he was beginning to wish for it to be his last. He snapped his eyes shut, his head beginning to spin, and couldn’t stop the flood of memories from overtaking his mind. Tears began to stream down his face, and he bit his lip, drawing blood this time. The physical pain wasn’t enough to distract him from the terrible aching in his heart.

“I’m sorry, but you need to gain a full perspective on the matter.” Satan’s voice was soft, now, and reflected Simon’s inner turmoil. “They let you go on searching, and waiting, and just when you thought you were moving on…there they are!” He clapped his hands once, giving Simon a start. He glared at the King of Demons, and held his tongue, waiting for him to continue. “They’ve played a horrible game with your emotions, and I guarantee, if you were to ask them, they’d say they don’t regret it.” He gestured to Nefaria, who was once again curled up with her head on her knees. “Just look at that woman…she’s another aspect of _you_ , after all! _That_ is what happens when Azraphael leaves collateral damage. They know it – Hell, _all_ of the Angels do – but that monster doesn’t care, and the other Angels aren’t about to put a stop to it.”

“No more…” Simon held his stomach, fighting back the urge to retch. He’d only end up dry-heaving, though, as he’d already emptied the contents of his stomach when he saw Nefaria’s helmet. It took him up until that moment to realize that, somehow, he was physically in Hell, just like Nefaria. When he thought about it, it made sense. Every physical feeling was just as real and intense as it was in his own plane of Existence. From the back pain, to the nausea, he felt everything fully.

“No. More. _More!!_ ” Satan laughed, throwing his head back. “Let’s not forget our dear, sweet little Nefaria! Azraphael led you to desperation, don’t you see? They allowed you to remain tortured with their memory for _millennia_ , and as a result, you pulled Nefaria into this to try and put an end to their hold over you.” He closed the gap between himself and Simon, and gripped his shoulders once more, firmer this time. “Don’t you understand, Icarus? You’ve spent the majority of your life chasing a ghost, and holding on to ideas of Love that would simply _never_ come to fruition!”

“But they said they Love me!” Simon could feel the fight being beaten out of him. His mind turned over and over again, struggling to grasp anything that would keep him grounded. He sunk his fingers into his hair, pulling on it as he clamped his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to maintain control over his thoughts. _Don’t they Love me?_ He thought, gritting his teeth. _Don’t they care?_

“There is a certain type of Love that only Angels can experience,” Satan declared, his voice solemn. “They _do_ Love you…but not in the way you want them to.” At this, Simon sank to his knees, biting back a cry of despair. Satan was right; he’d spent his entire life running after a shadow of hope, and there was nothing but suffering to be gained from it. He thought back to his last meeting with the Devil, and his statement finally made sense: “they’re going to make you suffer.”

“ _GOD DAMN IT!!_ ” Simon clenched his hair tighter, feeling some strands being yanked from his scalp. He didn’t care; he welcomed the pain, anything to distract him from the screaming within his heart. Part of him wanted to confront Azraphael, and lay everything out, while another part of him wanted to hide from them completely.

“I think you’re beginning to understand,” the Devil sighed, kneeling in front of Simon. He brushed a lock of hair out of his face, then took his hands out of his hair. The scientist looked up at him, eyes puffy and still running uncontrollably. In that moment, he hated himself for his blatant weakness. “Azraphael may have given up their own brand of Evil, but they still commit Evil acts for what they think is ‘the greater good.’”

“I don’t know what to do!” Simon broke down, then, beginning to sob. “I want to be rid of them!” His heart clenched itself at those last words, but he ignored it, inclined to follow through with letting go of the Angel once and for all.

“I have a solution.” Satan took his face gently in both hands, encouraging him to look once again into his ruby eyes. Simon waited, all the while biting back violent sobs. “What do you know of Prophecy, Icarus?” Simon bit his lip and shook his head, hoping that the Devil would understand that he knew nothing of the workings of Prophecy, other than it was possible to exist. “There is a particular version of one of Azraphael’s mortal incarnations that is responsible for writing your path in life. Find this individual, this _Prophet_ , and destroy them. From there, you can write your own story, _without_ their meddling.” He wiped Simon’s tears carefully, not once breaking eye-contact. “I can give you the exact coordinates, but _you_ must be responsible for their demise. Can you do this?”

“Yes!” Simon cried, jumping on his resolve. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing as he wiped away his tears. There was a distinct sensation of sick joy overtaking him, and he loved it. He longed to be free; to be left to his own devices, and allowed to whatever he wished, without any outside forces meddling in his life. He looked to the King of Lies, waiting for instruction.

“Excellent!” Satan clapped his shoulders enthusiastically. “You’re on your way to becoming your own man again! But first…we need to fix your physical state of being.” He stood, then, pulling Simon up with him. “Hold still. I’m guessing you’ve been told that your injuries couldn’t be fully healed. Whoever said that was lying through their teeth. I can have you back to normal in just a moment.” That was all it took for Simon to feel a sharp betrayal in his heart – both Azraphael and Sahl’resh had claimed that he’d not be able to fully recover. He should have known they’d lie to him. After all, they were together, and undoubtedly working together to keep him down.

“ _DON’T TRUST HIM!!!_ ” Nefaria screamed, capturing the attention of both men.

“I’ll trust _him_ before _you_ ,” Simon snarled, baring his teeth. He couldn’t stop himself from sneering at his counterpart, taking pleasure in her distress.

“Good choice,” Satan mused, chuckling darkly. He placed a hand on Simon’s lower back, then leaned in close, whispering in his ear. “Don’t forget…she tried to kill you.” A surge of hot energy shot through Simon’s body; his damaged vertebrae screamed at him, and he nearly fell to the floor in agony. Before long, though, it was over. The heat radiated throughout his entire body for a few long moments, and then faded entirely, leaving him refreshed and completely pain-free. He took a few tentative steps back and forth, testing his strength. Satisfied, he returned the Devil’s sinister grin. “And now you are whole again!” Satan laughed cheerily, giving Simon a friendly clap on the shoulder. “Let’s get you ready for the task at hand, shall we? I don’t suppose Erryll was gracious enough to leave you with instructions as to how to _utilize_ my gift to you?”

“No,” Simon bit back, his brow furrowing. “It only caused trouble for us all.”

“I should have known better than to let him go without _extremely_ specific directions.” Satan let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. “Either he’s just that stupid, or he wanted to watch you all squirm.”

“Why not both?” Simon laughed, beginning to feel the freedom his uninjured body was giving him once again. He never realized until then just how much he’d missed being able to move about without pain or hindrance. “I can’t say I blame him. Looking back on it, the antics we endured were quite comical.”

“I’m glad you have a sense of humor about it!” Satan laughed with him, his body language betraying his sense of triumph. He snapped his fingers, conjuring the bowl of apples between the two of them. “I’ll keep it simple. Take a bite of any one of these delectable fruits, and you will be blessed with a small piece of my own power. It’s reserved specifically for you, as you _are_ a fragment of myself.” Simon had no hesitation, no second thoughts, before he grasped one of the apples and bit into it. Satan’s smile turned absolutely malicious. A purple light wound its way around the Doctor’s body, from his feet to the top of his head, and he found himself encased in an enhanced version of his old armor. It was made of a shining black metal with gold trim; it weighed more than the previous version, but he found he had no difficulty moving in it. He sneered, cackling triumphantly as he felt a new power surging through his veins.

“So,” he chuckled, taking in the sensation of flexing his fingers in his mechanical glove. A bright blue orb manifested over the clock face on the outside of it, crackling with electricity. “What’s next?”

“Here are your coordinates,” the Devil summoned a tiny slip of paper with a jumble of letters and numbers. To anyone else, it would have been gibberish, but to Dr. Nefarious Tropy, it was the key to a new Reality. He took it, studying it carefully. “And here is your weapon of choice.” He snapped his fingers, and Nefarious’ old tuning fork manifested itself in his hand. “But before you go, I want to give you one more gift.”

“You’re too kind,” the Doctor chuckled, half-bowing to the King of Demons. “What might that be?”

“You get to decide _her_ Fate.” Satan pointed to Nefaria, who shrieked in a mixture of defiance and terror at such a proposition. “She did, after all, try to kill you, and played with your emotions, just as Azraphael has.”

“ _YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!_ ” Nefaria shrieked at him, plastering herself up against the statue she’d found comfort in. “ _I HATE YOU!!!_ ”

“Good!” Satan laughed, baring his teeth.

“Do whatever you want with her,” the Doctor growled, rolling his eyes. “I’ve no use for a traitorous bitch like her.” To this, Nefaria whined in protest, and began to beg for his Mercy. He held up a hand to silence her, and shook his head. He wasn’t going to hear it. Her time for pleading was over.

“I’ll take it to heart,” Satan nodded. He extended an arm, and an invisible force pulled Nefaria back into his arms. She tried to wrench herself away, but to no avail. “In fact, I’ll take it to _her_ heart!” He slammed a clawed hand into her back, and it broke through her sternum, holding her still-beating heart. She was stuck in a state of shock and disbelief, hardly able to register what was happening to her in that moment. The Devil leaned over and kissed her parted lips, which were opened wide, silently screaming. Then, Satan bent over and took a bite from her heart, ripping it out with all the malice and hate he could present in that moment. Nefaria fell limp in his arms, slowly succumbing to death. Nefarious merely winced at this macabre display, then turned his back to them both. He considered going straight to the Prophet, to end them before they had a chance to write his Fate, but decided instead to pay a visit to the Wumpa Islands beforehand. He typed in the coordinates on a holographic screen, which had manifested from the orb projected from his left glove.

“Where shall you go first?” Satan’s voice was distorted now. “Straight to the point, or are you going to wrap up some unfinished business first?”

“The latter.” Nefarious slammed the end of his tuning fork into the ground, causing a portal to appear in front of him. He didn’t bother looking back at Satan and Nefaria’s corpse before stepping through, and sealing his Fate.


	19. Seek and Destroy

Dr. N. Tropy stepped out of his portal, winding up in the same clearing with the crystal pool as he’d been taken from. Much to his surprise, the Bandicoots and the N-Team were all there, as well as Azraphael. Sahl’resh was nowhere to be found. Everyone but the Angel looked at him in shock and disbelief. He locked eyes with them; they were taking the form of the young woman with jet black hair and emerald eyes, and he was delighted – no, _overjoyed_ – to find that he didn’t feel a thing beyond hate and murderous intent when staring them down. He waved his tuning fork, sealing the portal behind him, and sneered maliciously at the entire group. He figured he’d come back and kill off the rest of them once his work with the Prophet was done, to tie up loose ends, if nothing else. Letting out a dark chuckle, he began to pace back and forth, keeping his eyes locked onto Azraphael’s. They looked him up and down, their gaze sharpening with each passing moment.

“I’ve learned a good deal since last we met!” Nefarious moved to smooth his hair, but found his helmet in his way – it was just as well, since he’d always preferred wearing it. He took a moment to admire his own strength; what a relief it was to be unhindered again, to be pain-free again! A deep chuckle resounded in his chest, giving way to a maniacal laugh.

“What the fuck did you do?” Azraphael stepped forward, shielding the others behind them. Their voice was hard, if not frigid. “Answer me!”

“Oh, it’s not a question of what _I’ve_ done, but what _you_ have, you infernal beast!” Nefarious’ smile faltered, and his face grew grave. “ _You_ have quite a bit to answer for, wouldn’t you say? No, no! Don’t speak. I’m rather sick of your lies and deceptions!” He tapped into the power of his armor, and began to hover a few inches off the ground. He’d not felt so alive, so in-control, since before his last defeat at the hands of the bandicoots. “I’ll tell you what I’ve done…I’ve freed myself from your grasp! I’ve regained my sovereignty! I- “

“ _Sovereignty?!_ ” Azraphael barked at him, cutting him off, and advanced another step. They held their right arm behind them, silently telling the group to stay back. They remained still, some of them holding on to one another, watching the exchange between the Doctor and the Angel in awe, and fear. Nefarious backed up a few inches, then thought better of it, and advanced a foot. He refused to show them any weakness ever again. “You think that trusting Satan gives you _sovereignty?!_ ”

“More than trusting _you!!_ ” He snarled, baring his teeth. He was beginning to see red. “You’ve brought me the most grief and misery…I _waited_ for you! I _searched_ for you! _I trusted you!_ And what do I have to show for it?! _Nothing!_ Nothing but a constant, nagging reminder of how _false_ you truly are!!”

“Simon, _please_ , listen to me!” The Angel pleaded with him, beginning to close the distance between them. Their face was torn between anger, sadness, and desperation.

“ _NEVER CALL ME THAT AGAIN!!!_ ” In a surge of rage, Nefarious whipped his tuning fork around, and slammed the tongs into the earth. A fissure opened up, and Azraphael had to jump aside to avoid falling in. The crack ended just before reaching the N-Team and the bandicoots. Azraphael glanced over their shoulder at them, then turned back to face Nefarious with a hard glare. “I’m _done_ listening to you! I’m _done_ accepting your lies! And I’m _done_ with allowing you to write my future as you see fit!” In an instant, a look of horrific realization dawned on Azraphael’s face, and Nefarious cackled with glee. He relished their shock, using it to fuel the fire of his decision. “Oh, yes! I know _all about_ this supposed ‘Prophet!’ And I’m going to have such a wonderful time destroying them!”

“You have no idea what you’re doing.” Much to the Doctor’s surprise, Azraphael responded with perfect calmness at his declaration. “Don’t try it…you’ll regret it.”

“What I _regret_ , is ever allowing _you_ to haunt me for millennia!” He moved another foot forward, and Azraphael inched back, still shielding the group of onlookers. “The first thing I’m going to do, is prevent us from ever meeting.”

“Don’t do this!” Azraphael’s voice began to distort; their teeth started turning sharp, and their eyes were taking on that hollow vacancy. For the briefest moment, Nefarious was afraid of them, but his fear was pushed back by a new certainty that further ignited his fury: they were perfectly willing and able to harm him. What kind of “Love” would allow it? None, in his mind. More than ever, he was convinced that his life had been spent in vain. When all was said and done, he was going to enjoy his freedom. However, he had to consider the Angel’s potential; they’d never shown him exactly what they were capable of, and he had to proceed with caution.

“Enough!” He snapped, swinging his tuning fork out behind him. A portal opened up, and he began edging backwards. “I’m ending this, once and for all!” Azraphael lunged at him, but he vanished through the portal at the last second. The familiar sensation of gliding along the passages of Time was exhilarating. He weaved between the threads of the Multiverse, laughing gleefully, almost like a child playing with their favorite toy. A clawed hand snatched his coat, tearing it, and he looked over his shoulder. Azraphael was right behind him, half-transformed into a menacing creature. Nefarious pushed for speed, putting a little distance between himself and the Angel. On impulse, he shot himself into a timeline that was far-removed from the one he was aiming for. The Prophet could wait – he had to keep Azraphael busy long enough to give them the slip.

A bright and vibrant city loomed on the horizon of this new Universe, approaching rapidly as Nefarious sped towards it. He could practically feel the Angel on his heels, and swooped down between skyscrapers as he entered the city limits. Holding out his weapon, he created a sonic boom, which shattered glass and broke down the very foundations of the buildings near him. Never before had he known such acute power – he craved _more_. Azraphael’s scream of distress made him laugh. He looked over his shoulder at them; they were scrambling to assist the people in the most immediate danger, and the Doctor used the opportunity to escape into another rift. He chuckled to himself, glancing at the crackling blue orb over his left gauntlet. Without stopping in his flight, he input the coordinates the Devil had given him. Just as he was about to fly off in the direction of his target, the Angel let out the most terrifying, unholy shriek he’d ever heard, and his blood ran cold. Once more, they were hot on his trail. One look at them told all: they were _pissed_. The energy radiating from them was hot enough to nearly sear the Doctor’s skin. Azraphael had fully transformed into that strange creature with a spine-crowned head, and bioluminescent markings.

Nefarious, having to stop himself from panicking, took another detour, this time winding up near a hydroelectric dam. On any other occasion, he would have stopped to appreciate the breathtaking view of the mountains and forests around it, but his gaze fell upon a small town instead. It sat within a mile from the dam, quiet and peaceful, and completely unaware of the peril it was in. A malicious smirk touched his lips. He rocketed off towards the outer wall of the dam, and slammed his tuning fork into it as hard as he could. Satan had clearly done _something_ to enhance his equipment. The stone wall caved in, and a massive spiderweb of cracks sprawled out from the crater. Water began spilling rapidly, forcing its way through the damaged barrier, and widening the already-critical wound in the dam. Nefarious hardly had enough time to move out of the way before the wall outright burst, sending a violent torrent to decimate the defenseless town. He decided to take a moment to enjoy his handiwork and watch the carnage, but his smug grin vanished entirely when he saw Azraphael. They had positioned themself over the sandbar by the town docks. The water stopped mid-flight; Azraphael held up both hands, and ground their teeth, exerting as much energy as they could muster to trap the flood in a forcefield.

“ _WHY WON’T YOU JUST QUIT?!?!_ ” Outraged, and without thinking it through, Nefarious bounded towards the Angel, completely intent on destroying their focus and letting the flood claim them, and the town. He readied his weapon, gaining momentum as he closed the distance between them, but was shocked to find himself pulled into the turbulence of the water and dam fragments. He was trapped in Azraphael’s forcefield, and narrowly avoided having his head crushed by a free-floating chunk of stone. Looking at the Angel’s face, he could tell they wouldn’t be able to hold it much longer, so he jumped ship, falling back into the space between Universes. Convinced that Azraphael would be tied up long enough for him to complete his task, he wasted no more time in reaching his destination. Once more, he input the coordinates, and fell through a portal into a most peculiar setting.

He staggered, the rift closing behind him, and found himself in a large, loud room with a few tables, a fridge, and an industrial smokehouse. The concrete floor was slick with what appeared to be bacon grease, and the walls surrounding him had a brownish tint which suggested the everyday use of the smokehouse. On one side of the room, there was a lone figure, sharpening a knife on a stone. Nefarious recognized the knife to be the very same one Azraphael had used to skin the boar, and knew that he’d found his target. The Prophet wore earbuds, and was bouncing slightly to the rhythm of whatever they were listening to. Their jeans were worn and stained with fresh gore, as was their white apron. Once satisfied with the sharpness of their blade, they turned around to head back to work, and stopped dead upon seeing the Doctor. In their shock, they dropped their knife; it skittered across the floor, stopping at Nefarious’ feet. He bent over and picked it up, taking a moment to admire their skill – it would be the perfect tool for cutting open their throat.

“I knew it…” The Prophet muttered, pulling their earbuds out, and edged closer to him. He was taken completely by surprise; they were utterly lovestruck, and looked at him with total adoration. Their smile lit up their whole face, and the corners of their eyes glistened with tears. “I knew it! I always knew you were out there!”

“Silence!” Nefarious attempted to shake off his confusion. He brandished the knife, taking a threatening step forward. “I’ve come to put an end to your meddling, Prophet!” He was met with a bewildered look from them, which only served to fuel his rage. “Don’t play coy! I _know_ you’ve been writing my Fate, toying with powers that are too far beyond your meager ability to comprehend!”

“Hey, now…I’m not a writer, I’m a butcher.” The Prophet shook their head, placing a hand on their hip. The way they looked at Nefarious was positively infuriating – how could they be so enamored? Shouldn’t they be scared out of their wits? They spoke to him so casually, they either knew what was about to happen, or they were foolish enough to not fear Death when it was staring them in the face. “Sounds to me like you got the wrong Universe.”

“That’s _exactly_ what I was about to say.” Azraphael’s voice thundered from behind Nefarious, and both he and the butcher jumped. Nefarious dropped the knife, spun around, and began backing away from the furious Angel. They were completely soaked, and their upper lip trembled in their effort to bite back their rage. “You were given false coordinates.” Their head snapped in the direction of the butcher, and they gave them a curt nod. “Get out of here. Now.” They stopped only to collect their knife, but while making a break for the door, Nefarious grabbed them, snatching their blade away. He pressed the edge against their throat, eliciting a small whine of terror from them. Finally, a reaction that made sense!

“This ends here, Azraphael!” Nefarious shouted, locking his gaze on the Angel. They let out a long, shuddering hiss, clenching and unclenching their fists.

“Didn’t you hear me, jackass?! YOU. HAVE. THE. WRONG. PERSON!!” In a split-second decision, desperate to get the Angel away from him, Nefarious dragged the knife across the butcher’s throat. Azraphael howled in a mixture of pain, grief, and pure, unadulterated rage. Their hand flew to their own throat, closing around it, and they breathed heavily.

“FREE AT LAST!!” Nefarious cackled, letting the corpse fall to his feet. The butcher hadn’t even had time to register what was happening, their face was frozen in shock. “Now, begone, foul creature!” The Doctor waited, but with each uneventful second passing by, he became increasingly aware of his folly. He watched in horror as Azraphael straightened out, releasing their throat, and cracking their neck. They fixed their invisible gaze on him, boring into his Soul, silently telling him he fucked up _bad_. “N-no!” Nefarious stepped back, then thought better of it, and stayed still. “You should be gone!”

“Wrong. Fucking. Person.” Azraphael’s voice was cold and venomous, dripping with a malice that the Doctor had never heard from them before. They summoned their sword, then, slowly advancing towards him. He’d never been more certain in his life that he was about to die.

They were on him in a flash, cutting across the clockface on his armor. He staggered backwards, and they took his helmet in one of their massive hands, yanking his head forward and slamming their forehead into his. His vision went black for a moment, and he saw stars spiraling around before it came back. Azraphael shoved him through yet another rift, following him through to the other side, and rained down blow after blow into his chest, shoulders and back. The back of their fist crashed across his face, shattering his nose, and dislocating his jaw. The next thing he knew, was that he was bouncing across a rocky surface, sliding to an abrupt halt when his back collided with a boulder.

Nefarious groaned, digging his fingers into the ground, attempting to pull himself up. Azraphael caught him by the wrist, and lifted him off the ground. They dug their fingers into his damaged armor, and ripped it off of him – it crumbled like dried mud. “Y-you can’t kill me!” Beginning to panic, Nefarious grabbed at the only thread of hope he had left. “You’ll collapse a timeline! You’ll kill trillions!”

“Oh, I’m not going to _kill_ you,” the Angel growled. “I’m going to _break_ you.” They whipped him over their head, and slammed him back down, popping his arm out of its socket. His right leg struck a rock, and the force of the impact was enough to fracture his femur once again. He howled in shock and agony, hardly able to believe what was happening to him. What had gone wrong? Shouldn’t the madness have ended with the Prophet’s death? The realization of Satan’s lies, and betrayal finally began to sink in – he should have just listened to Azraphael. The butcher was innocent.

“ _WAIT!!!_ ” He screamed as the Angel lifted him up again. His voice cracked and distorted to the point of being unrecognizable. “ _AZRAPHAEL, PLEASE!!! WAIT!!!_ ” His heart pounded rapidly, almost threatening to burst through his chest. Azraphael dug both hands into his side and hoisted him up above their head. “ _M-MERCY!! HAVE MERCY!!!_ ” He was in a full-blown panic now, flailing in a vain attempt to make the Angel release him.

“Believe it or not,” Azraphael sighed, digging their fingers harder into him. Their voice held a distinct note of pain and sorrow, further cementing the truth in Nefarious’ mind that he’d been played. “I _am_ showing you Mercy.” With that, they thrust him down hard onto a rock – he could practically feel each of the cracks forming in his vertebrae. He shrieked and howled, falling to the ground as they finally let go of him. His body twitched and convulsed uncontrollably; he was racked with such immense pain, he barely caught wind of the exchange between Azraphael and Uriel before blacking out.

“Call Sahl’resh,” Azraphael commanded, their voice harder than the stones that they’d used to break the Doctor.

“ _Are you out of your fucking mind?!_ ” Uriel nearly screamed at them. He was about to say more, but Azraphael cut him off with a terrible shriek.

“ _JUST DO IT!!_ ” They weren’t going to hear it. “I will take full responsibility for everything that happened, as I should!”

“You’re not making it out of this one, Azraphael!” Uriel protested, his voice thick with his own rage. “The Council won’t – “

“ _Fuck the Council!_ This is _my_ job, and I _will_ see it through!” They paused; their voice then became quiet, if not tearful. “I can’t give up, Uriel. You know full well why I just can’t do that.”

“God damn it, Angel…” Uriel sighed, accepting defeat. “Fine. I just hope you know what you’re doing.” Nefarious was sure that more had been said afterwards, but he lost consciousness before he could catch anything else. It came as a deep, blissful, mercifully dreamless sleep, allowing him temporary relief from all his pain.


	20. Meet the Ensigns

Nefarious lapsed between cycles of waking and sleeping, each time becoming further aware of the terrible pain gripping his whole body. Between the surges of agony, and half-remembered cries for Mercy, he writhed uncontrollably. Two large, burly hands held his shoulders down, and two calloused and petit hands clamped down tightly on one of his. He faintly made out the visage of two unknown faces – a man and a woman, each of whom were watching him with the deepest concern and confusion. At one point, the man asked the woman to bring fresh water, but Nefarious lost consciousness before she returned with it. In his next waking cycle, the woman was dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth. He was burning with fever, choking on his tears and sobs. He was just barely aware of being situated on a rough bed, and propped up by scratchy pillows, likely filled with straw and covered with worn woolen sheets. Briefly, just before he passed out again, he heard the woman speak a single word: Simon.

At last, he came around. Although still feverish, and with a deep, howling pain in his leg and back, he got a full look at the two who were attending him in his hour of need. The woman, who had called him by his birthname, was rooted to the spot by his side, holding his hand. Her head was bent down, and he could pick up the faintest sound of her muttering a prayer. He twitched involuntarily, startling her out of her concentration. Her head snapped up in an instant; her bright blue-grey eyes shone with tears, and her face lit up with relief when she saw him. Her grip on his hand tightened, a radiant smile stretching from ear to ear. She was lovely; fair and small, long raven hair, dressed in a plain white gown, and had the strength that told of many long years spent toiling in a field. She gently brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes – he had so many questions, but was distracted when he saw the man seated nearby. He was as fair as the woman, but tall and muscular, with a messy spattering of freckles, a shock of flaming red hair, and a bushy mustache. His tunic was tattered and dirty, and despite his tired visage, he perked right up when he saw the Doctor was awake.

“I say, you gave us quite a scare, Simon!” His accent held a distinctly Scottish tone, but was muddled with that of the English. The corners of his green eyes crinkled as he smiled, and he scooted himself closer to the woman. “Your mother was convinced you wouldn’t make it, but I knew better! We Ensigns are tougher than steel!”

“M-mother…? Ensign?” Realization hit him like a truck. Somehow, against all odds, he’d been transported back to the early 1600s, and was being cared for by his own parents. His eyes darted between the two of them. He could hardly believe it; he nearly convinced himself that he was either dreaming or dead, but his gut told him that it was actually happening. William and Maria Ensign, the parents he’d never known, were right in front of him. His heart squeezed itself – he didn’t know what he was supposed to feel at that moment. Deciding against dwelling upon his whirlwind of confused emotions, he looked at his surroundings, and found himself in a quaint, cozy little cottage. A fire crackled on the other side of the room, bathing everything in a dim orange glow. There were various herbs and root vegetables hanging from the ceiling, as well as a few pieces of dried meat. Then, he caught sight of a workbench, which was littered with tools, scraps of metal, and pieces of crystals. It took less than a moment for him to realize that the crystal fragments were none other than bits of a Power Crystal.

“W-what happened?” He asked, returning his gaze to his parents. “How did I get here?” He shut down his mess of emotions, and his nagging desire to ask his parents a million questions, and instead focused on the immediate problem.

“An Angel brought you!” Maria exclaimed. Her smile never faltered for an instant. She dabbed his forehead again, wiping away beads of sweat. He could practically feel the Love radiating from her, and had to shove down the urge to embrace her right then and there.

“And that…lady?...I don’t know, she sounded like a woman, and looked like a floating mask.” William chimed in, snatching the Doctor’s attention.

“Kupuna-Wa was here?!” He gave a violent start, disturbing his injuries. Groaning quietly, he fell still again. “What was the Angel’s name? What did they look like?”

“I believe he said his name was Antras,” Maria remarked. “He was a grumpy little thing. Small, thin, pale…rather upset about something if you ask me. He told us that you are our own son, sent from the future to complete a very important task.”

“He? Antras?” Nefarious’ face fell with disappointment. What of Azraphael? Where were they? What had become of them? For just an instant, he wondered if he should have been livid with them, or if he should have felt betrayed. Instead, he found himself wishing he could speak to them, even if it would only end with him being screamed at for what he’d done. He thought back to his confrontation with them, and had to suppress a sob. If only he’d listened to them, if only he’d given them a chance to explain, then maybe, just maybe, everything would have been alright. If only he’d listened, then the butcher would still be alive. He remembered how the Angel had grabbed at their throat the moment he’d cut the butcher’s, and how they’d showed a real, visceral pain as a response. Even though he’d failed to kill the Prophet, he knew he’d managed to wound Azraphael. This realization hurt worse than his broken leg and back, especially when coupled with the fact that he’d been so terribly deceived by the Devil. Despite Azraphael’s secrecy, they’d _always_ shown him true kindness and care, and he’d repaid them with violence and hate.

“I didn’t believe him at first, you know, with your blue skin and all,” William grunted, pulling the Doctor from his thoughts once more. “But who am I to call an Angel a liar?” He chortled at this, shaking his head, then gave his wife a sly grin. “After all, he told us things that no one but your mother and I know.” Maria blushed, looking down to hide her shy smile. William laughed heartily, then, and pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. She pushed him off playfully, unable to stop herself from laughing along with him. When she calmed, she turned back to her son.

“And he said that when you were ready, you would tell us your story, and no matter how incredible or unbelievable it may be, it’s the truth.” She gave him a warm, knowing look. She rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb, then leaned in, taking him by surprise as she kissed his temple. “Whenever you’re ready, we’ll listen.” He wanted desperately to speak up, to tell them everything, but held his tongue. His heart sank as he considered what his parents might think of him once they learned of how he’d spent his life, and how cruel he’d been. Maria seemed to detect his inner turmoil, in the way that her face flickered with his own reflection, but she let it go, and changed the subject. “You must be famished, my dear. I’ll prepare a stew for us.”

“Ooh, chicken or venison?” William practically bounced with excitement. He glanced up at some of the vegetables suspended from the ceiling. “I’ll chop if you’ll let me!”

“Oh, you!” Maria giggled. “I’ve managed to get some beef from the usual merchant caravan…it should last us a few days.” William’s ruddy face lit up, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. Maria couldn’t stop herself from laughing aloud at this. “And yes, my Love, you may cut the vegetables.”

“Beef! My favorite!” William was on his feet in an instant. He began to pluck onions, carrots, and garlic from the duo’s collection of hanging vegetables. Without another word, he trudged over to his workbench, sliding his projects aside, and laid the produce all out in front of him. Then, he pulled a knife from his belt, and got to work on slicing, dicing, and mincing as he deemed necessary. He paused for a moment, then picked a few potatoes out of a nearby wicker basket, and got to work on cutting them into cubes. Watching this, Nefarious was reminded of the butcher’s knife – the one Azraphael had used to skin the boar – and how they’d sharpened it with such care. It wasn’t the same knife, but the impression was strong enough to give him pain. His heart sank further, clenching itself tight.

He then watched his mother as she began to prepare a chunk of meat, cutting it into bite-sized pieces, and sprinkling salt and pepper overtop of them. He didn’t know what part of the cattle it had come from, but something in him knew that the butcher could have identified it at a glance. _Why am I thinking about this?_ He slapped a hand over his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut – they burned with the approach of tears. Suppressing another sob, he tried in vain to block out the memory of his grave error. It all came rushing back to him in an instant; he saw them as they sharpened their blade, giving it all the tender care and attention as one would when doing something they were committed to, and the way they had looked at him with surprise, and Love. He thought back to their first words to him, about how they’d known he truly existed, and wondered what they’d meant by it. It dawned on him, then, that even if someone were to be far-removed from one’s own Timeline, there were still methods of discovering that particular someone’s Existence. Although he wasn’t sure how, he knew that the butcher had Loved him…and he’d killed them in cold blood.

At last, no longer able to hold it back, Nefarious wept. Maria was at his side in an instant, cradling his head against her breast, and stroked his hair. He clung to her waist, sobbing violently into the folds of her dress. Her scent was that of dirt and grain, but was pleasantly combined with a mixture of fresh herbs and spices. She muttered barely-audible prayers for him to find peace and happiness. William came over shortly thereafter, and rubbed his shoulders – his touch was firm and rough, but still communicated the Love and concern he held for his son.

“Tell us, boy,” William said, his voice cautious and uncertain. “What troubles you so much?” He gave Nefarious’ shoulders a squeeze, then leaned in to join the awkward embrace between mother and son. He wrapped his arms around the both of them, pulling them into his strong grip. He smelled like dirt, wheat, fire, grease, and a hard day’s work. Although completely foreign, it was oddly comforting.

“ _I’m a fool!_ ” The Doctor shouted, wrapping one arm around his father, and squeezing his parents tighter. They didn’t resist him; they said nothing, and waited for him to speak. His mind was thrown back to his last meeting with the Devil, and his terrible reunion with Nefaria. He sobbed harder, and would have collapsed completely had his parents not been there to support him. They held him tight, offering words of comfort and encouragement. _They’re so clueless…_ He thought morosely. _They won’t want anything to do with me…but I have to tell them…_ Just as he’d nearly mustered up the courage to begin telling his story, an infant’s cry broke his concentration. Maria, with some reluctance, let go of both he and William. She offered a quiet apology, and wandered over to another room, but not before leaving Nefarious with another kiss to his temple. William continued to hold him, until the pain in his back forced him to recline once more. His father was intimidating in appearance, but everything about him said that he was a gentle, lovable giant. He took a moment to study his face, and found that he’d inherited not only his freckles and green eyes, but his strong jaw, and sharp cheekbones, too.

Moments later, Maria returned; she was cradling a fair and freckled child swaddled in a white cloth. The Doctor watched his infant-self in amazement, his sobs ceasing, and found himself at a loss for words. _This is too surreal._ He nearly laughed aloud at this, recognizing the insanity of it all, but if his life had taught him anything, it’s that truly _anything_ was possible. His eyes followed Maria as she sat back down next to him. Little Simon was calming quickly, comforted by his mother’s embrace.

“Simon,” she began, struggling to find the right words. “Meet…um…yourself.” Whether it was the absurdity of the moment, his parents’ radical acceptance of their situation, or the pain finally getting to him, he couldn’t stop himself from erupting in a long, mad howl of laughter. William and Maria recoiled at this, and the child burst into a cacophony of frightened cries.

“I have _so much_ to tell you!” He cackled, throwing his head back and hitting the headboard of the bed. He winced, but quickly recovered; no amount of physical pain could stop him, not when he was on the brink of confessing everything. “What did you imagine for me when I was born?! Please, tell me it was something _good!_ ” His voice cracked, then, summoning memories of his teenage years. In an instant, he was remembering his time at the Academy, and how fast and hard he’d fallen for the shapeshifting “exchange student.” He recalled each day spent with the undercover Angel, his laughter turning into desperate sobs; he knew they’d shown the future N-Team a large part of their true self, and realized then that his Love for them was _never_ misplaced, no matter how mysterious they’d always been. He thought again to their last encounter, and then to that period he’d spent with them in a safe place after his fight with Nefaria. Azraphael, he knew, would continue to haunt him, and he was fine with it – he _wanted_ them to. If the memories were all he’d be able to keep of them, so be it. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d ruined any chance of anything more.

“Simon, you’re scaring us!” Maria cried, wrenching him from his thoughts. His laughter stopped abruptly, and he looked fixedly at his parents. They were watching him with frightened eyes – in times past, he would have relished it, but now, he hated it. He’d never before imagined that he would care so deeply about his parents’ perception of him. “You don’t have to tell us _anything_ until you’re ready. And if you’re _never_ ready, that’s fine, too.” She held her child closer, rubbing his back rhythmically, slowly calming him once more.

“Agreed,” William grunted, although his expression was wary. “Antras _did_ say that you would probably be reluctant to talk. But if you want to – “

“I _have_ to!” Nefarious cut him off, clenching his fists. His gaze turned hard as he glanced between the three before him. His parents waited patiently, nodding slowly, and little Simon hiccoughed a few times, choking down future sobs. “I _have_ to tell you, because…because…!” He stopped himself there, dreading his next words. With a hard swallow, a squeeze of his heart, and a brief surge of nausea, he forced himself to finish his sentence. “Because you two are going to _die_ at the end of this!”


	21. A Full Confession

A terrible silence fell over the Ensign household. William and Maria exchanged looks of shock and disbelief; they looked back and forth between Nefarious and his infant-self, and a dawning horror washed over them. They knew it to be true because they’d chosen to trust Antras, and his declaration that whatever their son told them would be the truth. In a Time when the Church still held such an immense presence in peoples’ lives, trusting an Angel must have been common sense. The Doctor thought on this, then, and realized he’d been given an opportunity to hide everything but the most vital bits of information from his parents. He considered this – he even considered lying about who and what he’d truly become – but before he could decide, he had to get the essentials out of the way. As far as he was concerned, if nothing else, his parents only needed to know why he’d been brought to them, and what had to happen.

“My boy,” William grunted, finally breaking the silence. He had a protective hand on his wife’s shoulder, and was pulling her closer to him, if not for her comfort, then his own. He struggled to find his next words, but when he did, his voice cracked, and Nefarious’ heart squeezed itself hard. “Do you think we can avoid that?”

“No.” He sighed, forcing himself to look away from his parents as Maria let out a fearful sob. From there, he bit the bullet and launched into as simple of an explanation as he could give them: “I was sent back in Time in order to send my younger self to the future.” It took him a while to describe the fundamentals of Time travel, and the existence of quantum loops. William followed along as best as he could, and Maria hardly grasped the information at all, but they both listened intently, giving him their full attention. In the end, they were satisfied with knowing that it had to happen because it already had, and untold measures of chaos would ensue if he failed to close the loop.

“But if you haven’t done it yet,” Maria countered, holding on to whatever threads of hope she could. “How can you know it’s true?” This was a question Nefarious hadn’t known he would dread. He thought back to his conversation about it with Azraphael; he hadn’t believed them at first, but their reasoning had ultimately been perfectly sound. The problem was that he would have to tell his parents about the Angel, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for it.

“An Angel told me,” he said plainly, fighting back the sting of tears threatening to overflow. In his mind, he could see them as they’d discussed the loop, his parents, and the first time they’d called him by his birthname. He remembered their embrace, their smile, the way they’d wiped his tears, and had to swallow the violent surge of emotions that gripped at his heart and mind. Guilt, remorse, regret – all bundled up in one giant, angry wasp’s nest, and trapped inside of him.

“Was it Antras?” William’s voice shook him from his spiraling thoughts. He looked to his father, and wished more than anything that he could crawl under a rock and hide. His bright eyes had gone dull as the acceptance was sinking in, and his face was set in a glower. “The one who brought you here in such a sorry state?” His voice held a new, rough edge to it; it wasn’t angry, but so gruff and determined that it could have been perceived as such.

“No…Azraphael.” His heart howled as their name passed his lips, and he lost the fight against his tears. It felt wrong to speak their name after all they’d done for him, and how he’d turned on them. The wasp’s nest bounced around inside of him, and the pain in his body seemed utterly insignificant against that which threatened to tear his heart asunder. “A different Angel. Heh…a _very_ different Angel.” All at once, like the dam he’d destroyed, he broke down, and began telling his parents _everything_. He didn’t know if it was the memories of Azraphael, the crushing weight of his life’s choices, or simply the desire to get it all off his chest – he no longer cared. All he hoped for at that point was his parents’ understanding, and their continued acceptance of him.

He started at the very beginning, with what would happen to his infant-self after being sent to the future, and his “adoption” at the hands of Madame Amberley. When thinking back on his time spent at the Academy, he shuddered, realizing just how much he’d blocked out. Madame Amberley was a cruel mistress, who ruled her “subjects” with the iron fist of a tyrant who could never truly fulfill their desire for power. Much to his surprise, speaking of the Academy was difficult, and he had to pause several times to ward off oncoming panic attacks that came bubbling forth. He saw both of his parents tense up a countless number of times during his tale, but it was Maria who took it the hardest. She held little Simon as tight as she could without smothering him, but kept her eyes locked on the future version of her son, all the while suppressing the blatant desire to break down and cry. In the end, she held her child with one arm, and gripped the Doctor’s hand with the other. A few stray tears stained her cheeks; unconsciously, he reached out to wipe them away, but she shook her head and pulled back, allowing them to continue to fall. He hated seeing her like that, and hated knowing that those tears were for him.

Next, he spoke of the meager eight months he’d known Azraphael while they were undercover. He couldn’t help but smile; his memories of the time spent with “Azzy” and the N-Team-to-be were easily the _best_ of his Academy days. He thought of his dream-memories, which he’d experienced while staying with the Angel in their conjured space while caring for him, and added to them with as much as he could recall after five plus millennia. Unable to help himself, he laughed at some of the antics the group of friends had gotten into, and the pranks they’d pulled on teachers and fellow students alike. He couldn’t help it, for the impressions of the memories were too strong. His parents watched him incredulously, but at some point, William began to laugh along with him. Maria was far more reserved than her husband, but even she couldn’t stop herself from giggling at some points, especially when they involved some sort of harm being done to Madame Amberley.

Then came the revelation of “Azzy’s” identity – he’d not attempted to hide his feelings for them, or how they’d continued to haunt him all throughout his life. Both William and Maria were clearly stunned, and each muttered a short prayer of thanks for the Angel’s protection of their son. He was sure that they would reprimand him for his infatuation with a “holy figure,” but they merely offered their understanding.

“Love is Love,” Maria said with a smile. “Your father is an educated man, and I am a peasant girl who can’t read. William has occasionally tried to teach me, but without much success. We’ve known each other since childhood, and have Loved each other as truly as any two people can.” Oddly enough, it hurt Nefarious’ heart to discover that his mother was illiterate, but deep down, he knew it was just a result of her Time and social status.

“Aye, and we eloped,” William chuckled, pulling Maria close and giving her a firm kiss to the temple. She chuckled softly, leaning her head into his shoulder. “Our parents _never_ approved of our affection for one another, so we took matters into our own hands, and wed four summers ago.” The way his parents looked at each other reminded him of how he would often gaze at Azraphael: full of adoration and admiration. In just a few short moments, with a few short words, he was able to see how much his parents truly Loved and cared for one another. It nearly made him sick to know how their story would end, and that there was nothing he could do about it. Pulling him from this destructive chain of thoughts, William encouraged him to continue his tale.

Nefarious dove into his increased experimentation with Time travel, and how it had affected him. Cold, blue skin was only the tip of the iceberg. He openly admitted how he’d become obsessed with the new power he’d been granted, and how his determination to find Azraphael again had claimed his life. The years spent hopping through Time, and learning from great civilizations had not humbled him, but had given him a god complex to rival that of the real Gods humans enjoy writing about. After a long enough time spent fruitlessly chasing the ghost of the Angel, he’d given up, and began using his abilities for Evil. He held nothing back, confessing his wrongs, how he’d killed (both with and without knowing it) and what sort of vicious, hateful man he’d become. He nearly laughed aloud at his recollection of how he’d attempted to make himself a God, then nearly wept at the realization of how close he’d been to completely erasing his friends. While stuck in his hubris, he’d never imagined how fast and how hard he could be reduced to the helpless, broken man lying before his parents. For him, humility hurt far worse than being physically battered. It clawed ruthlessly at his heart and mind, and for the briefest moment, he wondered what he could have actually achieved had he succeeded.

His parents recoiled at his confession of being a careless, cold-hearted killer. Maria crossed herself multiple times, and William glared at the floor, muttering something incoherent under his breath. They sat for a while in silence, but Maria was the one to broach it, asking of what he’d hoped to accomplish with such immense power. To this, he had no choice but to give his most honest thoughts: “I have no idea.” He’d considered it briefly in the past, but it was never anything more than a passing thought. All he’d known at the time, was that he wanted more power and control over everything that happened around him. Maria probed deeper, questioning _why_ he wanted so much power, and he resigned to give the same answer. For him, it was never a question of “why,” but rather a question of “what can I attain?” Since he was already being completely honest with both his parents and himself, he thought deeply on this. In the end, he wound up being clueless as to _why_ he’d chased after so much. Sure, power and control were two valuable aspects to aspire to, but he began to understand that there was no reason for him beyond their attainment. Had he succeeded, he would have been a bored, uninspired “God,” who would ultimately cause chaos simply for chaos’ sake – Hell, he’d already done it.

Next, he delved into his acquaintance with his alternate self, Nefaria. Although hesitant, he described their relationship: he was overcome with admiration for himself, and a desire to let go of Azraphael completely. Nefaria was nothing more than an instantly compatible _something_ that distracted him from his inner turmoil. It wasn’t until then, until opening up to his parents, that he realized he’d _never_ Loved her. She was a distraction, and he’d projected his hopes onto her in order to escape the raging, long-standing desire to have a relationship with Azraphael. Although it hurt, and his heart sank with each passing moment, he pushed forward, describing how he’d come to meet Nefaria, and how they’d created an alliance in order to achieve similar goals. She’d been the first to make a move, pinning him to a wall and delivering a sweet, seductive kiss. It was with that first kiss between them that made him decide he would attempt to move on. He’d known it was in vain, for his heart continued to cry out for the Angel, but he’d still tried to make something out of it.

He considered lying again, but something deep within him told him that at least one of his parents would be able to call his bluff. More specifically, it was Maria he worried about; she had a keen sense of a person’s heart, and although he didn’t quite understand how, he knew he couldn’t get anything past her for long. He decided to dive into his fight with Nefaria, and how Azraphael had saved him shortly thereafter. Once more, he spoke fondly of the Angel, his tone and expressions betraying the adoration he still held for them. He described his time spent with them in a safe space, and how he’d dreamed of the memories of them. His heart clenched painfully while remembering how they’d taken care of him. Azraphael was a wild-card, but the Doctor clung to those blissful moments spent sleeping in their arms, and the way they’d kissed once he’d realized who they were to him. Most of all, he clung to the moment they’d grabbed his chin, and gave him a firm, resolute kiss. He remembered how they’d professed their own Love for him, despite not giving an explanation, and his heart swelled with hope. Thinking of the kisses that had come after, he couldn’t help but smile, wishing he could experience them all over again.

“You really do Love them,” Maria mumbled, stroking her child’s nearly-bald head. She watched little Simon with a look of scared determination. “When I gave birth to you, I thought we would both die. Your sister…” she cut herself off, choking back a painful sob. William pulled her as close as he could, vainly attempting to hide his own sorrow. “Your twin…she didn’t make it. Elizabeth died within minutes of being born.” No longer able to hold it back, Maria burst into tears. She snuggled little Simon close to her breast, somehow still managing to not arouse the infant’s ire. The Doctor was struck with the sudden reality of his parents’ plight. William wrapped both arms around Maria and the baby, pulling them in for a protective embrace. He gave his wife and child an unreadable look before turning back to his son from the future.

“So,” he grumbled, resting his head against Maria’s. “I suppose you’re going to tell us more? You’ll tell us why we have to die?” William turned out to be unapologetically straightforward. Future-Simon acquiesced, and began explaining what he’d gone through with Azraphael, their Lover Sahl’resh, and his old friends. He couldn’t deny that he was overcome with mixed, convoluted feelings about his situation. He could accept that Azraphael had many Loves, but his inhibitions came from not knowing what those Loves thought of him. Surely, they knew of his past, and the shit he’d pulled while under the Angel’s care. It wasn’t until then, until he’d begun thinking of his own misdeeds, that he began to consider Azraphael’s past, and how the Devil had brought it all to light. He hadn’t considered his dealings with the Devil, and how they had affected him. So, much to his dismay, he began speaking of his meetings with Satan, and the shell of Nefaria.

Maria gasped aloud, and crossed herself a countless number of times. However, regardless of her horror, she still kept one arm wrapped around her infant, and one hand tightly gripping her future-son’s. William sat motionless, nodding every so often, and allowed his son to continue his tale without interruption. He’d clasped his hands beneath his chin, and leaned forward expectantly. Something in his countenance told Nefarious that they were on the same page, and could relate to one another as far as the lies, deceit, and temptations of Evil were concerned. He’d only had two trips to Hell, but Nefarious was able to give fully detailed descriptions of everything he’d seen and experienced. He recalled Pandaemonium in great detail, and expressed a certain appreciation for the artistry of it all. When speaking of Erryll, though, he couldn’t help but shudder; there was something about that particular Demon that frightened him to his core. He thought on it, and concluded that it was entirely possible they’d known one another in one of his previous incarnations.

Then came the hardest part of all: admitting how he’d succumbed to the Devil’s honeyed words, his elaborate lies, and his tempting promises of power. He gave a full account of their last meeting, refusing to leave out even the tiniest of details. A wave of remorse washed over him whilst describing what he’d committed himself to doing, and forced him to choke back a rush of nausea when he spoke of his recent act of murder. Although he hadn’t known he was sent on the wrong trail, he accepted that his choices were entirely his own. The butcher was innocent, the Prophet remained untouched, and he’d still managed to hurt Azraphael. A part of him wanted to confront Satan, to scream at him, to rip the hair from his scalp…but the most logical parts of him knew that it would be of no use. He gulped, then, and recounted the swift justice he’d incurred at the Angel’s hands. Convinced that he’d deserved it, and that he’d gotten off far too easy for his malevolence, he wrapped up his tale.

“So, now I’m here,” he concluded, his voice flat and tired. “I’ve been brought here to close the loop, and if there are any other reasons for my presence, I don’t know them.” He gazed at his parents for a long moment, and when neither of them had anything to say, he continued. “And to answer your question, father…somehow, the Church is going to discover your research and experiments, and will charge you with either heresy or witchcraft…and you will both be sentenced to death.”


	22. Parental Love

“ _Heresy?!_ ” Maria shrieked, suddenly rousing her child’s ire. Little Simon hiccoughed, and began to cry. Her face lost its initial loveliness, and became twisted with a savage rage. She looked just like her son tended to when losing his temper. “ _Witchcraft?!_ I am a woman of Faith! William is devout! Just because he’s curious about…! He’s not…!” She couldn’t find the right words to complete that train of thought. Then, she struck on it. “It doesn’t mean he’s cavorting with the Devil!” She ignored her child’s cries for the moment, and instead turned to her husband. “William, say something!” William had been utterly silent and motionless. His face was drawn and paler than ever before. A certain realization clouded his eyes, one that he just couldn’t hide. Once or twice, his lips parted, as though he wanted to speak, but no words escaped him. Instead, he stood abruptly, turned on his heel, and left the cottage after retrieving his coat. Maria heaved a long, heavy sigh of defeat, and turned her attention back to little Simon. She’d lost all semblance of her sudden burst of anger, but now looked utterly exhausted. Within minutes, she’d calmed the infant once more. “Don’t mind your father,” she said, barely audible. “He just needs time to think things over.”

“I can relate,” Nefarious sighed, closing his eyes and allowing a few stray tears to fall. “I get like that, too.” He couldn’t help but think of the realization he’d seen in William, and pondered what it might have meant. Unfortunately, he still barely knew his father, and hadn’t the slightest clue as to what could be wrong. All he knew, was that it must have been bad.

“You truly are your father’s son,” Maria mused, a touch of humor returning to her voice. When he looked at her again, she smiled through her tears. There was an undeniable determination behind her eyes, one which reminded him of himself. “I’m quite tired, Simon. I need to think over everything as well, and we all need to eat. I’ll prepare dinner.” Without another word, she left for the other room, returning after a few minutes without her child. She set at once to the task of rounding up all of the previously prepared ingredients, and dropping them into a kettle to make the stew. Before hefting it over the fire, she added a handful of various, dried herbs. Then, she leaned against her husband’s workbench, staring down at it. It was too dark for Nefarious to be able to see what she was looking at, but he was almost positive that she’d been fixated on the fragments of a Power Crystal.

The two remained together in silence, with Maria stirring the pot every so often. She appeared deep in thought; she drummed her fingers against the workbench, her lips set in a tight, thin line. It was all Nefarious could do to not laugh – he had the exact same habit when processing a complex problem, but failed to understand how the mother he’d never known could have it, too. More than a few times, he considered telling her this, but he half-imagined that she might take offense to it. After all, he _had_ just confessed to all of the Evil deeds he’d committed over his unnaturally long life. He decided it was safer to assume that she wouldn’t want to have anything in common with him at all. He could admit to himself, at the very least, that it hurt his heart to think that. He had so many questions, for _both_ of his parents; from the most mundane bits of their lives to the most elaborate details, he wanted desperately to know them. In the end, he hung his head, and convinced himself that it just wasn’t possible.

Before he had a chance to enter the downward, depressing spiral of his thoughts, William returned, immediately capturing his attention. His father brushed the snow from his shoulders, stamped his boots at the entrance to the cabin, and rushed over to sit at his son’s side. Maria was shaken from her own thoughts, the look of concentration erased from her countenance, and at William’s request, she joined him. He held out his arms, and she sat on his lap, snuggling up to him and sticking her face in his wild, wind-blasted hair. William slipped his hand into his coat, and produced a bundle of paper. He handed this over to Nefarious, who took it tentatively. The Doctor glanced back and forth between the paper and his father, and lifted an eyebrow, unsure of what to make of it.

“Make me a diagram,” William said, still shivering from the cold. “Several of them if you can. I’ve got ink and a quill somewhere in this house. We have to create something that can get you, err, _both_ of you, to the future, right? I need to know what that something is, and what it needs to work.” If he’d been trying to hide his panic, he failed miserably at it.

“William?” Maria leaned back to look her husband in the eyes. He strained for a moment, then gritted his teeth, and met her gaze. Maria cupped his cheek with one hand, rubbing it gently with her thumb. “What’s wrong?”

“N-not now, my Love,” he grunted, shifting his worried eyes back to his bedridden son. “I’ll tell you later, I promise. Right now, I need to know what must be done to get those two out of here.”

“There’s one major problem,” Nefarious said, his voice flat. He set the paper down in his lap and heaved a frustrated sigh. His parents watched him with unwavering concentration, curiosity, and concern. “Electricity. I need a massive amount of electricity to make _anything_ capable of Time travel.”

“You need what, now?” This came from Maria, but both of his parents were staring at him perplexed. Of course – this was long before Benjamin Franklin’s kite experiment. There was no way they’d have any clue as to what electricity could be, or what it was capable of. Then, it struck him.

“Lightning!” He sat bolt upright in his excitement, instantly disturbing his damaged spine. The pain rang out like a gong placed right next to one’s ear, and he slumped back again, biting his lip to keep from screaming. He snapped his eyes shut, cursing himself for his lack of forethought. That was the _other_ major issue with the situation; so long as he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t assist with anything. A tiny part of him wanted to lash out at Azraphael for putting him back in such a state, but the logical and remorseful parts of him shouted louder than his anger – he’d ultimately done it to himself, and he was merely reaping the consequences. He saw Azraphael in his mind, soaked from the burst dam, completely pissed off, and struggling to keep the lid on their own rage. He saw the butcher, lying dead at his feet, done in by him with their own carefully and lovingly sharpened knife. The bitter sting of tears welled up from behind his eyes, but he shook it off – there would be another Time for reflection. At that moment, he knew he was racing against the clock. Whatever William refused to speak of could wait, too, for plans were to be made, and quickly.

“Simon?” Maria’s soothing voice brought him out of his contemplations once more. She watched him, her blue-grey eyes gleaming in the light of the fire. Her hand found his, and gave it a gentle, comforting squeeze. His heart squeezed itself, too. The two locked eyes; hers gave the impression of kindness evenly matched by ferocity. “No matter what happens, we’re here for you.” Nefarious was completely taken aback by this, and it must have showed, for Maria’s grip tightened on his hand, and her lips curved into a soft smile. When he couldn’t find the words to answer her declaration, she continued. “We Love you, son, no matter how big of a fool you’ve been.”

“Aye,” William nodded. His emerald eyes blazed with clear determination. “You ain’t dead yet…you can still repent, and turn your life around for the better. We’ll be here…until we can’t be.”

“ _Are you mad?!_ ” He nearly shouted at them, unable to believe what he was hearing. Maria recoiled with a pained look. Nefarious gazed at her solemnly, fear beginning to clutch at his heart. He’d convinced himself that neither of them would be able to shield themselves from his terrible truth for very long. To him, there was no alternative: they would have to leave him to his own devices, and he would have to grin and bear it. “I’ve just given you _every_ reason in the world to abandon me to Fate! You _must_ be mad to want to have anything to do with me after all I’ve done!”

“Nonsense!” William snapped, his expression turning hard. His nostrils flared, and his whole face flushed in anger. Almost on instinct, Nefarious shrank back, although it wouldn’t be until later on in his life that he realized he didn’t fear his father, but rather the harsh punishments of those who “raised” him at the Academy. “Aye, you’ve done more wrong than any man I’ve _ever_ heard of, and you’re right to be ashamed of it! But you’re still my son, complicated situations be damned, and I’ll not rest until I know you’re safe!” He paused, sighing quietly, and allowed his face to soften once more. The color crept out of his cheeks, and in a few moments, he regained his calm. His voice trembled softly, but held a note of defiance that, at that moment, Nefarious suddenly began to admire. “I’m no clergyman, but I’ve heard your confessions, and as your father, I find it completely within my right to forgive you.”

“And I, as your mother.” Maria had straightened herself out, and was glaring intently at her son. He shrank back even from her; Maria was both gentle and ferocious, and she didn’t have to try in order for it to be known. Her eyes, previously so kind and warm, now had a cold, sharp glint to them, like blue ice under the winter sun. Those eyes could have pierced a knight’s armor. “I’ll tell you now, Simon…you have much to be sorry for, but don’t you _ever_ be sorry for yourself. Self-pity will get you nowhere.” He flinched hard when she reached out to him, snapping his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, waiting for the blow to come. She merely sniffed, recognizing his trauma, and wiped his tears away with gentle, loving caresses. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until then. When he finally registered the lack of danger to himself, he looked tentatively to both Maria and William. They watched him silently, both leaning forward, both with watery eyes and pained expressions.

_Damn the pain_. He thought to himself, and found just enough strength to sit upright and pull his parents in for another embrace. They welcomed him eagerly, holding him tight, both shifting to give each other an equal share in the moment. His entire body screamed at him, but his spine shrieked like an angry cat caught in a trap. _Damn the pain!_ He thought again, clenching his jaw so hard it nearly seized up on him. Holding them tighter to him, he could have sworn he felt a distinct energy pass between them. It shot through his heart, and it felt firmly connected to his parents’ hearts – a bond, then forged. The first time he’d been accepted by them, earlier that day, he was but a stranger to them, his significance to them being defined by only the word of an Angel, whom they’d chosen to trust. Now, despite knowing his life story, and all the horrible decisions he’d made, he was their son.

“Oh, Simon…” Maria sniffed, her voice betraying that she was on the verge of tears. She ran her hand through his hair, and kissed his head several times. “Don’t give up, Simon. You’ll make it through this, and you’ll keep your word to Azraphael, I just know you will.”

“M-my…what…?” He blinked, unsure of what she was talking about, but he soon remembered. “Oh…right. Azraphael…” His voice faded out; his eyes fell, and his heart sank. With all that he’d told his parents, he’d nearly forgotten his declarations to the Angel that had saved him – the Angel that he still Loved. He’d told them, quite fervently, of his desire for change, to be better, that he never _chose_ Evil before leaving the Academy. He’d built himself up on bravado, not only to stay close to Azraphael after being separated for so long, but to convince himself that it would be simple to walk away from Evil. They had warned him, though, that no such feat was ever easy, and he’d taken it with a grain of salt. He’d taken it for granted that he had a powerful being by his side who cared deeply for him, and who was willing to protect him. Thinking back on it, he remembered their warning, that they could _not_ be the reason for him to seek Redemption. He’d so quickly and so easily brushed this off, and was only now coming to realize that he _had_ been doing it for them. Could anyone blame him, though? His very Soul seemed to cry out for them, and the more Time he spent with them, and the closer they became, the louder that cry was. If not for Love, what other motivation had he for change? Now that Azraphael was gone – _again_ – there wasn’t much he could think of.

“Mother?” His head dropped against Maria’s shoulder, and she rubbed the back of it soothingly. Once more, his tears fell, and were soaked up by the coarse fabric of her dress. She laid her head on his; the pressure was oddly comforting. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I can do it without their guidance, and I don’t know if they’ll ever forgive me.” His jaw trembled violently, but he bit back the oncoming surge of sobs and screams. His mother merely shushed him, and continued petting his hair.

“You’ll know when the Time comes,” she said, barely audible. “When it happens, you’ll make the right choice. I believe in you.”

“So do I, son,” William agreed heartily. His grip around the two tightened – Nefarious’ body howled in response, but he wasn’t about to push his father away. “Let your remorse be your guide – I _know_ you feel remorse. It’s obvious. Just don’t lose sight of it like before, understand?”

“I-I’ll try…” It was all he could muster, but it was good enough for the moment. Still weak and racked with pain, he struggled to stay upright, and was slowly losing his grip on his parents. They must have sensed his discomfort, for they coaxed him back into lying down. Although everyone was clearly reluctant to let go of one another, William and Maria weren’t about to let their son continue to suffer any more than he had to. They dropped the subject for the time being, lifting a weight off his shoulders, and allowing him to breathe easily in their presence again. Maria insisted on serving up the stew, as they’d all waited long enough for dinner. William agreed, remarking how late it had become, and shuffled off behind his wife to help her prepare. Once more, before setting off for their tasks, they confirmed their unconditional Love for their son, cementing it as a fact in both his heart and mind. In that moment, the Doctor settled on an important decision for the last time: he renounced the name given to him by Madame Amberley, and once again became Simon Ensign.


	23. Defiance

Sleep didn’t come easy for Simon that night. Unable to shift his body without putting himself in even greater pain, he tossed his head from side to side, silently begging himself to pass out. He was exhausted – in body and mind – but it didn’t seem to matter. William and Maria had retired to the other room, but had told him to give a shout if he needed them for anything. Sleep refused to overtake him for several hours longer, and when it finally did, he found himself wishing he’d just stayed awake.

**

There was no violent or dramatic entrance this time; one moment he was asleep, and the next he found himself back in the great inner chamber of Pandaemonium. He groaned aloud, merely frustrated at first, but then downright livid when he noticed he was alone. If he were going to be dragged into yet another meeting against his will, the least his summoners could do was actually _be_ there. He paced impatiently back and forth in front of the monolithic statues, glancing up every now and then at the tapestries that hung between them. He tried to make sense of the story they told, but with such a limited knowledge of the history of Existence, he soon gave up. Instead, he focused solely on the one Satan had showed him in the gilded scroll during his last “visit” to Hell. He studied the depictions of the strange, otherworldly creatures that went to war with one another. The two largest, which Satan had pointed out to be his own parents, were nearly identical in shape and size. They were launching themselves at one another, innumerable teeth gnashing, and countless eyes blazing with contempt.

The next image on the tapestry showed the hordes of smaller, similar-looking creatures clashing with one another in fierce battle. The larger two remained in the background, grappling with one another, each attempting to overpower the other. The third image was of two different beings squaring off; both appeared Angelic, but one of them was twisted and deformed by darkness. Simon recognized this as the fight between Archangel Michael, and the would-be-Satan. The fourth image showed the giant white creature hurling their dark counterpart down into an Abyss, and the would-be-Satan getting distracted by it. In the fifth, Michael’s sword collided with his opponent’s chest, and unlike in the scroll, this version clearly showed something spirit-like leaving the wounded man. Simon remembered, this was the moment Satan became himself, and he came into Existence as the fragment who would later become the Soul, Icarus. The sixth image showed Michael in tears, distraught and conflicted over what he’d done. He’d dropped his sword in this, and had sunk to his knees in grief. The seventh was the depiction of Satan as he is now, and Icarus beside him, scared and confused. The tapestry ended there, and the story continued in the next one.

“Hey there, stranger.” Before Simon could move on to the next tapestry, a suave feminine voice came from the other side of the chamber, making him jump. He swiveled around so fast, he became lightheaded, and staggered back into the wall under the tapestry he’d been studying. The voice gave a low chuckle, and its owner’s footsteps approached slowly. When his vision corrected itself, he watched a tall, elegantly dressed Demoness strutting his way. She tossed her long, black hair, and gave him a seductive smirk. He looked her up and down, unsure of what to make of the situation, but swearing to himself that he knew her somehow. She laughed again, and stopped several feet away from him, placing one hand on her hip. “What? Don’t you recognize me?”

“No…? Yes? Maybe?” Try as he might, he just couldn’t figure it out. She looked like no woman he’d ever met before, human or alien. Her reddish-pink skin, amethyst eyes, and ridged black horns would definitely have stood out in his memory. Despite her appearance being unfamiliar, there was something that made him feel like the two knew each other at some point. He shook it off, deciding not to care about their potential acquaintance. He was back to being upset about his unwanted third trip to Hell. “Who are you, and what do you want?” He glared at her, his lip set in a snarl. “I’m tired of being brought here, so either spit it out, or send me back!”

“Jeez, alright. Just calm down.” She rolled her eyes, then shook her head and clicked her tongue at him. “When last we met, I was called Nefaria. You can still call me that, though.” She smiled at his apparent shock.

“ _Nefaria?_ ” He let go of the wall, took a step forward, but then thought better of it. “I watched you die – again!”

“Yes, yes. I’m aware. You _do_ know where we are, right?” She cocked her head and lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t wait for him to answer her question. “For someone as smart as you, there’s a lot that goes right over your head.” She straightened out, and clasped her hands in front of her, giving him a warm, sincere smile. “I brought you here because I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me? Why?” Simon wasn’t at all convinced that this wasn’t just another trick to make him lower his guard. After the last time, he intended to keep his defenses up. “Last I remember, you hated my guts, and you were in pretty bad shape.”

“Yes, well…” Nefaria waved her hand dismissively; it didn’t slip past Simon that she had to try to hide her disdain for the Time she’d spent suffering. “Things have changed. You see, your decision to hand my Fate over to the Devil put me in the position I’m in now. Not only am I restored, but I’m powerful!” Her smile turned wicked, and her eyes blazed with triumph. “You haven’t the faintest idea of what you’ve helped me become. My dearest Lord has given me the kind of power and influence I’d never even _dreamed_ of!” She chuckled again in spite of herself. “Until I was brought here, I never knew – never believed – that such things as Hell, or Demons, or Angels could possibly exist. But more than that, I never knew how truly shortsighted I was in my scheming and conquests during my mortal life.”

“Conquering the Multiverse and establishing yourself as a God is ‘shortsighted’ to you?” Simon huffed, taking his turn in rolling his eyes.

“I know, it sounds ridiculous, but yes. All that you and I ever saw was the immediate potential, which is actually the _smallest_ of all possible rewards.” She began to pace back and forth in front of him, holding her chin thoughtfully, and keeping her eyes on the floor. “Hmm…how do I put this? Given enough Time, effort, planning, and most importantly, _patience_ , ‘conquering’ will sound childish and simple in comparison to what my Lord and I – and all our cohorts – will be able to accomplish.” She stopped midstride, glancing back up at him. Her smile had vanished, and her expression became thoughtful. “You know…you goofed up pretty badly with that Prophet business, but if you sincerely apologize, and beg for a second chance, I believe my Lord will give it to you.” The smile returned, this time charming and seductive. “And I can promise you something right now, sweetheart… If you renounce your pest of an ‘Angel,’ I’ll be more than happy to take you back, and we can put the past behind us completely.”

Simon listened to his first instinct in that moment, and averted his gaze, refusing to look her in the eyes. He remembered what had happened after looking into Satan’s, and came to the logical conclusion that anyone in his inner-circle could hold a similar type of influence over mortals. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play with me, but I don’t appreciate it, Nefaria.” He saw her move towards him out of the corner of his eye, and he sidestepped her, keeping his head down and walking out into the open chamber. “I know where I stand with you – I don’t trust you, and I’ll never put myself in that position again. I _am_ sorry for ever leading you on, for allowing you to think we had something. We never did, and we never will.”

“Oh, alright. It was worth a shot.” Nefaria sounded amused. “But on that other subject…you probably could get another chance out of my Lord, if you want it.”

“Don’t speak on my behalf, Darling.” The unmistakable voice of Satan resounded from the far end of the chamber, and Simon’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. _When can I go back? This is getting ridiculous._ He turned around, half-expecting someone or something to seize him and try to make him fear for his life. Instead, he watched Satan walking quickly and angrily towards him. His face was set in a hard, merciless snarl, and his fists were balled at his sides. For a moment, Simon _did_ fear danger, but he stood his ground, straightening himself out and returning the Devil’s glare. He nearly smiled, realizing he was taller.

“ _You-_ “ Satan spat, stopping only an arm’s length away. He was positively seething with rage. “You incompetent, blundering, useless cur!” He raised a hand to strike Simon across the face, but stopped himself, instead jabbing a finger into his chest. “I gave you a _simple_ task! The _simplest!_ And you can’t even do _that_ right!”

“You sent me to the wrong person, and tricked me into committing senseless murder!” Simon shot back, smacking Satan’s hand away from him. The Devil’s glare turned downright murderous at this offense.

“You dare…” He gritted his teeth, showing off his fangs. His voice began to distort, and his sclerae turned black. “You dare to challenge _me?_ I always thought you were smarter than that.” He grabbed Simon by the collar, effortlessly lifting him off the ground. Simon struggled helplessly for a moment, then launched his foot into his captor’s gut. Satan dropped him and staggered backwards, unhurt, but not unfazed. He radiated such a powerful aura of anger and hatred, it nearly turned Simon’s stomach. His eyes could have melted steel. More of his teeth turned long and pointed; he was quickly failing to maintain enough control to stay in his preferred, beautiful form. “I gave you the _exact_ coordinates, you damned fool! It’s not _my_ fault that _you_ typed them in wrong!”

“Bullshit!” Simon picked himself up off the cool obsidian floor. “You knew what you were doing! You probably just wanted me to damn myself beyond Redemption, and picked a target that would actually harm Azraphael!”

“Ohh, and does the little mortal think he still has a chance?” Satan cooed mockingly. He threw his head back and laughed, a deep, guttural, inhuman sound. Then, he stopped abruptly, whipping his head back to stare him down. “Well? Do you? You were _so_ willing to hunt down the Prophet, _and_ kill other innocents along your way!” His smile, now hideous, broadened when he saw the dismay creeping over Simon’s features. “Oh, yes! Those buildings you damaged? They collapsed. That dam you destroyed? It wiped out the nearby town. And as far as your beloved Angel goes? I’m disappointed that they were able to keep enough of their calm to _not_ kill you after all that. Had they, you’d already be so powerful – much like Nefaria – that you’d never even consider an alternative path ever again.” He shrugged nonchalantly, beginning to regain his cool. His mouth went back to normal first, then his eyes, and slowly but surely, his voice. “I don’t believe you’ll ever see Azraphael again, Icarus, so if I were you, I’d take a hint and finally give up on your meaningless, impossible quest…be it for Love, or Redemption. You’ll never find either. I know this is hard for you, so I’m willing to let this little incident go, and give you another chance. Prove yourself, and join me.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” A terrible stillness settled in the chamber as Satan’s voice turned low and murderous. “What did you say to me, you miserable wretch?”

“I said _no!_ ” Simon clenched his fists, half-tempted to try and shatter Satan’s nose. Only a tiny shred of self-preservation held him back. His heart howled, a mixture of grief and rage, but he managed to stop the tears that threatened to fall. For the moment, he blocked out the remorse for his careless, unthinking actions – he could reflect on them later. He was set on making his stance, and more importantly, his _intentions_ , perfectly clear. “I’m not dead yet!” He’d echoed his father without realizing it at first, but when he noticed, he felt an immense gratitude for the man, and his unconditional Love and support. Then, he remembered his mother’s words, and her belief that he had at least _some_ good in him. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I _will_ find a way to turn things around! You can plot, and scheme, and mock me all you want, but I will _never_ give myself over to you!” He paused, a mad grin touching his lips. “Even if I fail, and I wind up here anyway, you’ll still never get what you want out of me.”

“As you wish, Icarus.” Satan turned on his heel, beginning to waltz away. He stopped by Nefaria, offering her his arm. She took it with a playful smile, and gave him a quick kiss. The pair continued along their way; Satan waved his free hand, and the space around Simon began to waver and distort. The last thing he saw before being sent back to his body, was Satan looking over his shoulder with a deadly, malicious sneer. “Just so you know, Icarus…I’m going to make you regret this.”

**

Simon awoke with a start, gasping frantically. Although the fire was mostly out, and the cottage had become bitterly cold, sweat poured down his body. He sat up abruptly, nauseous and disoriented, and instantly regretted it. His spine shrieked at him, and in his pained confusion, without thinking, he’d grabbed his fractured leg hard. He clutched his throat, clenching his jaw and snapping his eyes shut, refusing to let out the anguished scream that wanted to escape. Then, he jumped; a hand had laid itself on his shoulder, and was gently but firmly coaxing him back into lying down. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring up at an Angel. He was small and pale, with dark, shoulder-length hair, and bright almond eyes. He wore a scowl, but didn’t appear, or give off the energy of being unfriendly. His halo bobbed slightly above his head, and his wings twitched in agitation.

“You can relax, Simon,” he said, somewhat grumpily. “I’m Antras.” He extended an arm behind him, and without looking, hurled a fireball into the dying embers of the previous night’s fire, reigniting it. “It’ll warm up soon.” He’d failed to notice – or care for – Simon’s surprise at the fireball, and instead situated himself in a chair next to his bed. His eyes shifted around the room, seeming not to want to look at the bedridden man. Then, his gaze became fixed on him. There was something in his eyes that suggested a definite lack of desire to be there. He sighed, shaking his head. “If nothing else, you’re pretty good at getting yourself in trouble.”


	24. The Grumpy Angel

Antras fell silent, apparently expecting Simon to speak. Simon, however, was at a loss for words. He hadn’t anticipated another visit from _any_ Angel, especially not so soon after he’d allowed himself to be coerced back into his Evil ways. How odd, then, that the grumpy little Angel who, alongside Kupuna-Wa, had delivered him to his parents should show up. Countless questions danced on the tip of his tongue, but he hadn’t the courage – or clarity – to ask a single one. Still regretting his thoughtless actions upon awakening, the pain distracted him from forming any coherent sentences. Once or twice, his lips parted; he wanted to speak, even if it only meant receiving reprimands from Antras. But alas, nothing came out. Instead, he resigned to locking eyes with the Angel, hoping he would be the one to break the silence.

“What?” Antras finally spoke, shattering the still. He crossed his thin, sinewy arms over his chest and huffed. “Are you expecting something? Or do you have something to say?”

“W-why are you here?” He shifted uncomfortably, hoping in vain that his endorphins might kick in, and block out at least some of the pain. His head was swimming with the memories of his third – and hopefully _final_ – trip to Hell. Of course, he never wanted to see it again, but a part of him longed to be able to study those beautifully woven tapestries, and attempt to uncover the entire story they told. If only he could show them to Nitrus, then the two of them together might stand a chance at the task. Thinking of his old friend, his heart clutched itself, and he suppressed a sigh. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of the entire N-Team, or even the bandicoots that they’d attempted to reconcile with. Although terribly uncertain of their chances, he hoped with all his heart that his friends were doing well under the kind and wise guidance of Azraphael. Even if he could count himself as lost, he wished the best for them. He thought of Azraphael, then, and his heart sank further.

“I’m delivering a few things on behalf of your Prophet. They’re doing me a favor, so I’m doing one for them.” Antras grumbled, yanking Simon from his thoughts. He perked up instantly at the mention of the Prophet. _They haven’t given up on me!_ A spark of hope touched his heart; he waited, eager for Antras to continue. He fumbled in the pocket of his loose, white robe, and produced a small object. “Selenite is a delicate crystal, so be careful with it.” He handed over a little white stone, carefully and simply wrapped in silver wire, with a loop at the top for a chain or cord. “Your Prophet made it…it was their own pendant. They cast a Blessing on it, and asked me to give it to you. Take good care of it, and it’ll take good care of you.”

“Thank you…!” Simon couldn’t help but smile; he admired the stone, with all its lines and ridges, and the little chinks in its surface which told of its fragility. The wire wrapping was by no means professional, but it was well thought out, and sturdy. He glanced back up at Antras, who was waiting in that unnerving, patient silence. “Um…what does selenite do?”

“Angelic protection, dispels negativity, gives mental clarity and good luck, brings peace and tranquility…everything you desperately need.” Antras shrugged nonchalantly. His eyes shifted to the side, and if Simon wasn’t mistaken, a bit of color touched his cheeks. It wasn’t the blush of embarrassment or shyness, but rather one that hinted at anger. “Those bastards won’t be able to touch you or mess with you now, so long as you keep that with you. All they’ll be able to do is annoy you. Put it under your pillow when you’re in bed. I’d keep it on a cord around your neck whenever you’re moving about.” Those “bastards,” as he put it, could only have meant Satan, and the Demons he used to do his bidding. Simon clutched the stone in his left hand – it felt more natural there than in his right. Sure enough, a soothing energy passed into his palm, and began working its way throughout his body and mind. It did nothing for his physical pain, but he couldn’t have been more grateful than to have such a special pendant. He would treasure it always.

“Thank you, Antras.”

“Thank your Prophet!” The Angel countered, returning his gaze to the bedridden man. “They’ve always been one to pull strings, and bend – if not outright _break_ – the rules. But I agree with them on this one; if Satan doesn’t have to play fair, then they shouldn’t have to, either.” He readjusted himself in his seat, and let out a frustrated sigh. “The other thing…they wanted me to tell you, and these are _their_ words, not mine: ‘See ya ‘round, honey. Take care of yourself, now, ya hear? Don’t you let that spark die.’” The blush returned, then, and this time, it came with an embarrassed look. “Ugh, and…again, from _them_ …” Antras suddenly leaned forward and pressed a firm kiss to Simon’s cheek. He pulled back as quickly as he’d moved in, and mumbled incoherently under his breath, scowling at the floor.

Simon, thoroughly stunned, was rendered speechless yet again. The blood rushed to his own cheeks, and his heart skipped a beat or two. His mind raced, trying in vain to decipher the Prophet’s message, and the meaning behind the kiss. The reason for the pendant was clear: he needed protection, _badly_ , and they’d managed to find a way to give it to him. That told him plainly that they were still fighting for him, despite his botched attempt on their life. But the message? It was Greek to him. He could already tell it was something that would keep him guessing for a long time to come. That mattered little to him, though. He’d received word directly from the Prophet; the message was meant for him and him alone, and when put together with the other two gifts – yes, he considered the kiss to be a gift – it gave him as great a hope as he’d held when he was reunited with Azraphael. There it was again, though, that great, glaring problem that threatened to tear his heart asunder.

“Where is Azraphael?” The question escaped him before he had a chance to check himself. The feeling of hope didn’t fade, but it became clouded as Antras stared him down in solemn silence. He waited – patience was the best policy for dealing with Angels. Azraphael had taught him well, but not well enough to discourage him from inquiring about them. In spite of everything that had happened, and that was happening – in spite of everything that was _going_ to happen, that _had_ to happen – he couldn’t get them out of his mind. He cursed himself for being such a damned fool, for not listening to them when they’d pleaded with him to. Once more, he thought of the dead butcher, of the knife they clearly treasured, and of the additional blood on his hands. In the past, the deaths he was responsible for were due to carelessness, thoughtlessness, reckless abandon, collateral damage, and impersonal happenings. This one was personal. Azraphael had clearly felt this one; they’d shrieked in agony, and then wiped the floor with him.

“Well,” Antras spoke slowly, considering his words carefully. Simon was dragged back out of his spiraling thoughts, thankful for it, at least for the moment. “Right now, they’re getting ripped apart by the Council.” He paused to let out a sharp, annoyed sigh. “ _Again_.”

“You say that as though it’s a regular occurrence.”

“It may as well be!” The Angel threw his hands up in exasperation. “Every time they take on a _personal_ mission, they completely disregard the Council, and have to be strongarmed into compliance!” Simon was about to ask what he’d meant by “personal,” but Antras continued. “Hell, why do you think you’re practically back where you started when they scraped you off that rock? They very nearly lost control, and could have easily killed you, even just by accident. Good for you – _very_ good for you – that they didn’t. But on that note, they _knew_ what they were doing! They got you out of standing trial before the Council by rendering you completely unfit to attend a hearing. So, they’re taking all kinds of shit for that, too. Then – “

“Wait, a trial?” Simon interrupted, nearly sitting up in alarm, but stopped himself at the last second. His heart stood still, his blood ran cold. A vague terror began to wash over him.

“Yes.” Antras nodded gravely. “A trial. You see, once an Angel like Azraphael takes on a mission during someone’s Deciding Life, the Soul in question becomes closely monitored by the Council. The Soul is given their warnings early on, and is reminded that they are walking the path towards Redemption completely of their own free will. They can back out at any time. But, once the Soul has agreed to undertake the task, going back on their decision will result in a trial of the highest court. It’s no simple or pleasant task to determine whether or not a Soul should be damned or redeemed. Should it be a mere decision, with no action to complicate matters, the Council continues to monitor the Soul, and should the Soul change their mind, the issue will be discussed, and typically, they’ll continue seeking Redemption under an Angel’s guidance. However, in cases like yours, the Soul will be required to appear before the Council and plead their case. Since Azraphael made it impossible for you to do so, they’re doing it in your stead.”

A rush of nausea threatened to overwhelm Simon. He fought it off with all of his mental fortitude, feverish and yet in a ghastly cold sweat. _Oh God, what have I done?!_ He clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling an uncomfortable, frightened groan. Wave after wave of hot nausea pulsed through his body, from his stomach to his head, but he endured. Eventually, it ceased after long measures of slow, careful breathing. He locked eyes with Antras once more, only then realizing that he was shaking violently. Fear? Yes, absolutely. Remorse? No question about it. For the first time since their meeting, Antras’ features softened completely; he looked at Simon with sad sympathy, and reached out to grip his free hand. Simon took it without protest, and clasped it tight.

“It’s alright,” the Angel muttered, barely audible. He spoke quickly, almost secretively. “You’ve got this. Your Prophet still has you under their wing. There’s still hope.” With his other hand, he brushed away the burning tears that had begun to stream from Simon’s wildly scared eyes. Antras’ voice dropped further, so that he and Simon both had to get closer to one another for his words to be heard. “I believe in Azraphael, and they believe in you. Don’t you dare give up.”

“What do I do?!” Simon spoke in a hoarse, panicked whisper. “What can I _possibly_ do to correct this?!”

“Trust your Prophet. Trust Azraphael. Give yourself to them, and they will steer you down the right path.”

“Oh, I gave myself to Azraphael a _long_ Time ago!” He groaned, gritting his teeth. “I Love them, Antras! God, I _Love_ them! They’re _the only one_ I’ve ever felt this way for, and not only have I hurt them, I’ve _betrayed_ them!” He paused, startled by his sudden outburst of frank, unapologetic honesty. Angel or not, Antras was still a stranger to him. The two stared each other down – Antras gave him a small but bright smile. The sad sympathy was still present in his almond eyes, but there was a new warmth in his expression. Silently, it spoke of hope.

“Huh…I was wrong about you.” His smile broadened, and he seemed nearly ready to laugh out loud. The grumpy Angel had become a picture of joy and loveliness. “I’ll have to tell Uriel. Maybe that’ll soften the old fart’s edges some more.” Still holding Simon’s hand, Antras stood from the chair, then dropped to one knee next to his bedside. Closer and ever the more confidential, he dared a few more words in a whisper that was barely perceptible. “Just trust them, okay?” Then, he released Simon’s hand, and wrapped his arms around his neck, gently embracing him. Although stunned at first, Simon was glad for this hug; he held the Angel as close as he could, burying his face in his lush hair. He was soft yet strong, and radiated a calming warmth which soothed Simon’s mind and heart. Antras’ lips were at his ear, and he conveyed one last quiet message, meant only for him. “They Love you, too. _Never_ forget that.”

A surprised gasp came from behind Antras; the two jumped, and the Angel whipped his head around. Maria stood near the entrance to the other room, and a bright smile lit up her face. “Antras!” She clasped her hands over her heart, glancing back and forth between the Angel and her son. “How wonderful to see you again!”

“Likewise, Maria.” Slowly, Antras let go of Simon, allowing their embrace to linger for as long as he could. He turned to face Maria fully, and extended his hands to her. She took them eagerly – despite her outward display of happiness, Simon could sense something was wrong. She looked tired, as though she’d hardly slept.

“Do you bring news for my son, or?” Simon wished he could see Antras’ face. Maria’s fell, becoming pained as the Angel stared at her in silence. “Should…should I wake William?”

“No, let him sleep. You should go back to bed, too.” Antras’ voice wavered, reflecting the dismay in Maria’s eyes. “I must leave soon.” He looked over his shoulder at Simon; his expression was unreadable. “I just need to speak to your son for a moment longer, and then I shall go.”

“I understand.” With a great, visible reluctance, Maria released Antras’ hands. She seemed on the verge of tears. “Please come back if ever you have a chance.”

“If I can, I will.” He wouldn’t. Simon already knew this. He realized the moment Antras began speaking confidentially to him, that this would be his only chance to meet with him under such conditions. Azraphael’s apparently brazen ways of handling “personal” missions must have rubbed off on him, at least a little bit. There was no way he should have been allowed to deliver anything directly from the Prophet, and he was going to catch Hell for it. Whatever favor the Prophet was handling for him, it must have been an indescribably important one – perhaps Antras’ own “personal” mission. He hoped he was wrong, for the sake of his mother, and Antras would be able to return, but such a hope was tiny and unpromising. When she retired to the other room once more, Antras returned to his side.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, refusing to meet Simon’s eyes. He wept silently, confirming Simon’s fears. The tiny hope was gone, dashed before it had a chance to fester and grow. In some ways, it was merciful. When Angels were frank, it often hurt, but at least their hearts were always in the right place. “I…I’ll see them on the other side, but not before then.” Simon’s heart sank further still – he’d nearly forgotten about his parents’ inevitable demise. He offered Antras his hand, but the Angel pulled him into another warm embrace instead. There was no confidentiality this time, only two people grieving before Death came for another two innocent Souls. Antras sniffed, holding Simon as tight as he dared without causing him further pain. “You have until July 14th, 1604, to take your younger self to the future. The Church will come, then. Cherish _every_ moment you have with them, Simon. Do you understand? Waste no Time whatsoever!”

“I won’t! I’ll make every moment count!” He paused, his mind beginning to race. There was so much to do – so much planning, gathering materials, and the worst part, figuring out how to make a working Time travel device _in the God damned Renaissance._ “What day is it, now?”

“December 4th, 1603. Just over a month after you were born, on November 4th.” It had never occurred to Simon before that he’d never known his actual birthday. It figures, Madame Amberley had most likely decided to stick him with the day he’d wound up in her “care” as the real date. In a sense, it was. It was the day his life and future had been decided for him. “I have to go, Simon. And you have work to do.”

“Wait!” He held Antras to him, daring one last question – the one whose answer had the potential to either uplift his spirits, or crush him completely. Antras waited; the lapse of silence that fell between them nearly killed Simon’s courage. _No. I must know._ “Will I ever see Azraphael again?” At this, the Angel sighed and pulled away, staring him down with that sad sympathy once more.

“I don’t know.” He stood up straight, taking a step back, and shifted his gaze away, no longer able to meet Simon’s eyes. “After Death, yes, of course. But before? I can’t say. It’s entirely up to the Council at this point.” He fidgeted with the sleeves of his robe – a nervous habit, signaling his discomfort. Just as Simon felt his heart begin to drop to the pit of his stomach, Antras continued. “I’ve already said _way_ too much, but…what the Hell. You’ll have better chances if you apologize to them.”

“How?!” Simon was barely able to keep his voice low enough so as not to disturb his parents. He clenched both his fists and his jaw. “How am I supposed to do that if I can’t – “

“I know you’ve never been a religious man,” Antras interrupted, finally meeting Simon’s eyes again. “And you have no clue how to say a prayer, but just make yourself comfortable – isolation is best – and speak aloud, with the clear intention of communicating with them. Even if they can’t – or won’t – answer, they’ll hear you.” Then, as though he’d been administered a sharp zap, the Angel stood perfectly straight. His eyes opened wide, his muscles tensed, and he had the look of a man who was aware he’d gotten caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. “Okay, now I _really_ have to go. Take care, Simon. We’ll meet again in due Time.” With that, he vanished in a brief flash of light, and a puff of white smoke, leaving Simon alone to digest everything that had just happened.


End file.
